It Escalated
by dendriticgold
Summary: Tongue-in-cheek sequel to 'Skinny Dip'. Tom, Thomas, Jimmy and Alfred begin indulging in humorous challenges that they set for one another. This rapidly escalates to a full blown game of Truth & Dare that plays out over the course of a week. This fic is intended to be pure silliness, i.e. implausible crack. (Assume there were no pregnancies/deaths in the 2012 CS!) COMPLETE
1. Monday - An accidental beginning

**(A far less plausible follow on piece for 'Skinny Dip', under no circumstances to be taken seriously)**

**It Escalated – Chapter 1**

**Monday – An accidental beginning**

'Sorry I haven't had the chance to come and see you before now.' Said Branson to Alfred, Jimmy and Thomas, after indicating to the rest of the staff in the servant's hall that they could be at their ease (still highly uneasy at the way they all leapt to their feet in his presence). 'How did things go when Dr Clarkson saw to the wound in your foot?' He said, directing the query at Jimmy but also mindful that Clarkson was likely to have given Alfred and Thomas something of a hard time over the circumstances of the injury.

Jimmy decided the correct response, 'How'd you bloody think?!', would be inappropriate. He, like Alfred, had trouble conceptualising Mr Branson as 'one of their own' despite their shared moment of madness in the pond several weeks previous.

'Dr Clarkson was worried about infection…' Jimmy said matter of factly. 'So he was quite zealous in cleaning and…cutting...' Both Thomas and Branson grimaced at Jimmy's words. Behind him, Mr Clarkson entered the servant's hall. '…He went in quite deep..' Jimmy continued. '…very deep, in fact. And it was certainly uncomfortable…'

He frowned as Alfred, Branson and Thomas suddenly creased into poorly suppressed laughter. Jimmy turned just in time to catch the tail end of Mr Carson's horrified initial reaction before he managed to regain composure; reassuring himself that there must be a perfectly innocent explanation. Jimmy's eyes widened in shock.

'Hello Mr Carson.' Branson greeted brightly. 'I just came down to check on James and see if Dr Clarkson had been able to sort out his foot.'

'Ah…' Mr Carson demeanor lightened considerably. 'It is kind of you to show concern, Mr Branson. As you can see, James is back on his feet and doing perfectly well.' He couldn't resist adding a slightly sterner reproach. 'I trust you will all reflect more carefully in future on the potential dangers of indulging in similarly juvenile acts!'

As the men before him nodded dutifully, looking suitably chastised, Carson reminded them and the rest of the occupants of the servant's hall (with the obvious exception of Branson) that they all had work to be attending to. He swept out of the hall with most of the staff in hot pursuit.

Branson indicated for Alfred, Jimmy and Thomas to linger for a moment longer. He waited until Carson was out of the room, checking then double-checking over his shoulder to be sure, before speaking.

'Did you see the look on his face?' He grinned. Alfred nodded eagerly as Thomas gave a small snort of laughter (while somehow managing to maintain the reserve and refinement as befitting his station relative to Alfred); Jimmy continued to look stunned and uneasy.

'He had a similar look on his face the other day, wouldn't you say?' Alfred said with a gleeful smile, eyeing Branson's face for evidence of approval.

'He's certainly not very good at handling things which could be considered _suggestive_…' Thomas cut in ruefully.

'Indeed.' Branson responded. 'You know…' He glanced back at the open doorway in case Carson had magically re-appeared. 'I reckon you could have some fun with that.'

The others frowned quizzically.

'Why not see how much 'suggestion' you can slip in during conversation before he notices and puts a stop to it?' Said Branson in a very low voice. 'Especially if you make it so that what you are saying is technically appropriate to the circumstances. It'll drive him round the bend!'

Thomas pursed his lips and gave a small pensive nod while Alfred and Jimmy sniggered together at the thought. Thomas glanced in their direction.

'Mr Branson, you shouldn't put such ideas into the heads of our Footmen; they might think you're being serious!' He said in his best 'Under Butler' voice.

Branson smiled knowingly back at him. 'From what I know of you, I'll wager that the idea is far more dangerous in your head than theirs!' He said, before turning to leave the room. 'Glad to see you are better James.' He called over his shoulder before vanishing out the door.

'He's a good man that Mr Branson.' Said Alfred. 'It's nice that he doesn't always act all prim and proper like the rest of them.'

'That's because he isn't one of 'them'.' Thomas bluntly reminded him, snapping back into 'professional' mode to order Alfred and Jimmy to get on with their assigned tasks for the morning.

Thomas hadn't intended to pay any mind to Branson's suggestion, but he did find himself playing out the idea in his head throughout the day (smiling each time he mentally conjured up a scenario resulting in an indignant Carson; a simple and hilarious entertainment guarantee).

Quite unexpectedly, a small accident at dinner that evening brought his imaginary musings into the murkier world of reality; kick-starting something that (no matter how hard he tried to place the blame on Branson) was _technically_ all his fault.

'Pass us the salt.' Thomas said, directing the order in the vague direction of those on the opposite side of the table. O'Brien purposefully ignored him and Molesley didn't hear him (or lacked the mental faculties to process such an order within a reasonable timeframe) so the task fell to Jimmy. He grabbed quickly for the salt shaker and thrust it towards Thomas.

In his haste, Jimmy misjudged his finger placement and found himself eliciting far more skin contact than necessary to perform the task. He pulled back sharply, dropping the salt shaker between them in the middle of the table.

Thomas blinked in surprise, a mild electrical current running from his fingers to his wrist at the unexpected touch, but quickly recovered at the sight of Jimmy's intense discomfort.

Inevitably, an awkward hush descended round the table.

Thomas searched for a means of distraction. As the discussion from that morning replayed in his head, he seized upon Branson's half-joking suggestion as the perfect solution.

He gave an exaggerated sigh. 'Now look, you've gone and spilt everywhere!' He said, flicking his eyes towards Alfred to silently urge him to join in.

Alfred fumbled for words for a moment. 'It's not James's fault that you didn't keep a firm grip of it, Mr Barrow.' He said, doing a far worse job of concealing his inner merriment than Thomas.

'No, really, it was my fault for releasing too early.' Jimmy chimed in, perking up a little as he shot an amused sideways glance at Alfred.

Thomas had to admit he was somewhat taken aback by Jimmy's willingness to participate in a joke along those particular lines, but he quickly realised it could most likely be chalked up to Jimmy's inability to step back from a challenge due to his ridiculously inflamed sense of pride.

Several members of staff, Mr Carson included, listened to the exchange with the distinct impression they were somehow missing something. But they were quite unable to put their finger on it.

A conversation between Thomas, Alfred and Jimmy was such a rare occurrence those days that more than a few eyebrows were raised on that account alone.

'Just be more careful in future…' Thomas said, feigning sternness. 'That stings if it gets in your eyes!'

Alfred and Jimmy did their best to suppress their grins as they turned their attention back to their plates. Thomas did the same.

At the far end of the table, Carson continued to watch the three of them with a highly befuddled frown.

Mindful of the intense scrutiny they were now under, they remained silent throughout the rest of the main course.

But upon taking a bite of the desert (a fresh Victoria Sponge cake) Alfred couldn't quite help himself. 'That's lovely and moist, isn't it?' He announced to the table.

Carson's ears pricked up immediately, sensing danger.

'Oh yes…' Said Thomas, before taking a leisurely chew (and swallow) of another mouthful. 'Sits nicely on the tongue.'

Jimmy let out a violent snort. He then began choking on the sugary paste that made it's way up his nostrils as a result.

Carson immediately demanded silence.

Alfred and Thomas risked exchanging one more merry look before Alfred busied himself with clapping Jimmy on the back.

'Well that was rather amusing…' Said Thomas later that evening as he rejoined Alfred and Jimmy in the servant's hall. They were seated at the back of the room playing cards, the majority of the other staff having already turned in. Although a few stragglers lingered with various sewing projects and books. Bearing them in mind, Thomas made a point of keeping his voice low.

'That it was.' Alfred agreed in a quiet voice, looking up at Thomas and grinning from ear to ear. Thomas couldn't help but notice Jimmy taking advantage of Alfred's distraction to sneakily check the next card to come up in the deck.

'Shame Jimmy here had to spoil it.' Said Thomas, sliding into the seat next to Alfred, raising an eyebrow at Jimmy.

'It's not my fault the two of you have filthier minds than me.' Jimmy grunted, unnecessarily reshuffling the cards in his hands.

'Actually, I'd say the naughtier mind belongs to the one who laughs the loudest…' Alfred teased. Thomas silently thanked him for saying it; he had been thinking exactly the same but was far too distracted by thinking where Jimmy's mind _had_ gone at that point during the desert to be able to vocalise the thought himself.

'Question is...should we ask Mr Branson if he has any other ideas? Perhaps one just for you?' Alfred continued. 'Seems only fair since you spoiled this one.'

'No, I don't think that's…' Thomas began nervously, but Jimmy's determined little voice cut him off.

'By all means!' He said, glaring challengingly at Alfred.

Thomas found himself, once again, mentally cursing Jimmy's seemingly desperate need to cling to his misguided notion masculine pride.

He grimaced, suspecting intense discomfort awaited on the not too distant horizon.

**NOTES – A huge thank you to shana-rosee for the suggestion of concocting a challenge out of making innuendos in front of Carson (Sorry I made it Branson's suggestion, not Alfred's!). The other suggestions that have been received for the truth/dare theme will be incorporated as the game crystalises/escalates as the 'week' progresses. (Keep the suggestions coming on as I need something 'mild' for Jimmy to get the whole thing off the ground!)**


	2. Tuesday - The bottle of a dozen truths

**It Escalated – Chapter 2**

**Tuesday – The bottle of a dozen truths**

The silliness of the previous day had quite fled Jimmy's mind by breakfast the next morning, making it somewhat confusing (and a little alarming) when Alfred took him to one side in the corridor and gleefully informed him that he'd 'got one' for him.

'You what?' Jimmy hissed, mindful of the rest of the staff filing out of the hall to go about their daily tasks around them.

'I said I've got one for you. You know, to make up for yesterday.'

'Oh!' The conversation of the previous evening suddenly came back to him, especially his own words. The memory was accompanied by a large amount of internal swearing.

'By the end of the day, you have to steal something from one of the girls. Let's say, Daisy's apron.' Said Alfred with a grin.

'Oh.' Jimmy said again, having briefly feared something far more…creative. Although, on reflection, the realisation of what he would need to do in order to complete the assigned task still managed to set him off in a cold sweat. 'That's far too easy.' He said dismissively with a twist of a sneer, willing Alfred to come up with an option 'B'.

'Then you won't have any trouble doing it then, will you.' Said Alfred with an amused smile.

Jimmy mentally cursed Alfred for having chosen that moment to prove he wasn't as stupid as he looked (or sounded, or acted…) and wracked his brains for another get-out clause.

'Don't you two have somewhere to be?'

Thomas's stern voice made them both jump. They immediately straightened their posture and stood to attention before glancing in confusion at one another's reactions. Clearly Thomas was doing a much more convincing job of picking up Mr Carson's authoritative mannerisms than they had previously realised.

'I was just giving Jimmy an extra task for the day.' Said Alfred in a low but mischievous voice once the shock of Thomas's initial appearance had abated.

Thomas blinked in surprise. 'Thought we were going to ask Mr Branson for one?' He said, having secretly hoped that the notion would be long forgotten by the next time any of them had cause to speak to Tom.

'I think my idea is a good one!' Said Alfred. 'Just listen to this…'

Jimmy stood awkwardly by as Alfred explained to Thomas about Daisy's apron, sensing from Thomas's earlier hesitation that he could rely on him to put a stop to such nonsense.

'Oh. That sounds alright.' Said Thomas.

'What!?' Said Jimmy in surprise.

'That sounds very suitable.' Said Thomas, with an approving nod to Alfred. Like Jimmy he had expected something far worse, and personally couldn't see what harm could come of Alfred's suggestion aside from some minor embarrassment for Jimmy. And that, in his opinion, was a price worth paying to put the juvenile business to rest before it could escalate further. 'Good luck!' He said to Jimmy as he moved away down the corridor.

Jimmy stared daggers at his retreating back before turning his dark look on Alfred, who grinned away happily beside him.

As the day began to wear on, Jimmy wasn't sure what irritated him more; Alfred's repeated amused sideways glances, or the impending need to touch Daisy's waist (albeit surreptitiously).

The task weighed heavily on his mind as he slowly made his way around the family quarters in the afternoon to collect wayward teacups and plates, replaying Alfred's words in his mind.

Suddenly, as he passed the rooms of Lady Mary and Mr Crawley, inspiration struck. Alfred had said at first that it could be anything from 'one of the girls' and surely it would be considered that much more prestigious, not to mention daring, to steal something from Lady Mary (with the added bonus that he would not have to have any actual contact with her to actually do so) and it would be an easy thing to slip whatever he took back into Anna's laundry pile afterwards.

Quickly setting the tray down inconspicuously next to the cabinet in the hallway, Jimmy gave a quiet knock on the bedroom door in case a maid happened to still be making the rounds. Hearing no answer he pushed inside.

He closed the door quietly behind him, congratulating himself on his ingenuity and bravery as he turned to look at the cupboards and chests of drawers lining the walls.

'Now what would be best…?' He whispered to himself. He reasoned that it would have to be something in-between the categories of underwear and ornate outerwear; the former he had no desire to touch and the latter would be far too cumbersome to sneak downstairs. He briefly considered taking a hair ornament or piece of jewelry, but quickly discarded that notion, as if he were caught with them it would look damningly like he was trying to steal valuable items to sell. Not that he fancied the idea of being caught with an item of ladies clothing either but under the circumstances…

The sound of voices in the corridor abruptly snapped him out of his reverie.

The sound of _Lady Mary's_ voice in the corridor had him scuttling under the bed in a panic.

The sound of Matthew Crawley's voice in the corridor had him thinking that coming up with an excuse for why he was in the room would have been the infinitely preferable response to hiding under the bed.

As Mary and Matthew fell upon one another (and the bed) after entering the room, Jimmy found himself caught somewhere between wanting to curl up and burst into tears or extract himself from under the bed and run out screaming; job be damned.

It didn't help that the bed slats dipped dangerously low under the focused weight of two people.

There was a knock at the bedroom door.

The sound met Jimmy's ears like the heavenly angel choir itself.

Jimmy decided there and then, his face pressed into the dusty floor, that he would never again do _anything_ wicked for the rest of his days.

Although sadly, or luckily, depending on your point of view, that last thought was quickly wiped from his mind at the sound of Mary and Matthew scuffling above him to put themselves to rights to answer the door.

'Hello there!' Said Branson brightly as he entered the room. 'I do hope I am not interrupting anything….' He continued in a sheepish voice that showed he was painfully aware that he _had_.

'Not at all.' Said Matthew, clearing his throat nervously. 'Are they ready for us in the library then?'

Jimmy's heart suddenly stopped as he felt an insistent kick at the sole of his shoe. He reflexively drew his knee up further towards his chest, and waited with baited breath.

'Yes, I believe so.' Said Branson.

There were a few moments of silence during which Jimmy assumed Mary and Matthew were continuing to make themselves presentable.

'Right then…lead on.' Branson continued.

Jimmy heard footsteps as they began to leave the room, but was aware that the shadow of one person's feet remained behind.

He jumped and hit his head painfully on the bed slats as Branson's face suddenly appeared, peering under the bed.

'James?' He said in surprise, having recognised the foot poking out from under the bed as a man's but having expected almost literally anyone (save Mr Bates) other than Jimmy. 'What the devil are you doing?'

'A dare.' Jimmy replied desperately, staring earnestly at Branson's face.

For a second he thought Branson was going to reproach him and give him away, but Jimmy found himself gasping in relief (his embarrassment temporarily forgotten) as Branson gave a roaring laugh.

'That's hilarious!' Said Branson, somewhat redundantly after his laughing spell. 'So what is it that you're trying to…?'

Branson quickly stopped talking and bounded to his feet as the bedroom door opened again.

'I thought you were following us, Tom.' Said Matthew apologetically. 'We didn't mean to leave you behind!'

'Not at all.' Said Branson warmly. 'I managed to drop a cufflink and was just picking it up.'

The two of them exited the room, leaving Jimmy to take some much needed deep breaths before emerging from under the bed. He was sufficiently traumatised by the experience to abandon the idea of taking something from Lady Mary's drawers, and instead ran out into the corridor as fast as humanly possible.

'Time's running out!' Alfred needled him as the two of them headed back to the kitchen after the dinner service.

Jimmy didn't dignify his words with a response, silently panicking (although he had no idea at all why the thing mattered to him) that he was going to fail the challenge.

As he and Alfred set their trays, with the leftovers, on the kitchen table, they noticed Daisy heading away in the direction of the store cupboard.

'Go on…' Alfred elbowed him lightly in the side and indicated the direction Daisy had gone. Jimmy could tell he was speaking in jest, and it was that more than anything that had him shoot a glare at Alfred and take off after Daisy.

Alfred watched him go in surprise, craning his neck to see round the store room door to check on progress, but Mrs Patmore's return had him making a speedy exit for the servant's hall.

'Mr Barrow!' Alfred slid into the seat beside Thomas. 'I think he's doing it!' He whispered.

Thomas gave a small laugh, putting out the remains of the cigarette he held clutched in his fingers. 'I'd best get ready to save him when Mrs Patmore threatens to box his ears!' He said, rising to head towards the kitchens.

He halted at the sight of Jimmy entering the hall with something rolled up under his arm. He didn't need to wait for Jimmy to unfurl it to know that the dull creamy fabric (a mile away from the crisp black of Jimmy's jacket) belonged round Daisy's waist, not under the arm of a Footman.

'Well I'll be damned!' He said softly.

'Oh you didn't!' Said Alfred, jumping up to join Thomas in inspecting the item. 'My goodness…'

Jimmy stood silently beaming at them.

'Oi!' The three of them, and several other occupants of the servant's hall, looked up as Daisy entered the room. 'I'll be having that back!' She said sternly, snatching the apron out of Jimmy's grip.

They waited until Daisy had left the room before laughing; Alfred in merriment, Thomas and Jimmy in relief. Although both Alfred and Thomas made a mental note to question Jimmy as to precisely _how_ he had managed it.

Mr Carson's re-appearance shortly afterwards robbed them of the chance to do so before the evening drinks service.

Late that night as the three of them lingered in the hall, awaiting the moment when the two maids would retire for the evening (allowing them to finally speak frankly to one another) they were surprised to see Branson appearing in the doorway. He appeared to have cloth-wrapped parcel under his arm.

His arrival was heralded by the usual scraping of chairs across the floor (both theirs and the maids) as they sprang to their feet, and as if by magic Mr Carson suddenly appeared in the doorway to ask him if he could be of any assistance.

'No thank you, Mr Carson.' Said Branson. 'I'm here to have a quick word with your Footmen.'

Jimmy's eyes widened. He had entertained the forlorn hope that he could conceal his earlier indiscretion from Alfred and Thomas, but clearly Mr Branson had other ideas.

'Very good, Mr Branson.' Said Carson with a slight bow, lingering in the doorway until Branson made it clear that he wasn't moving until Carson did.

Branson took a seat next to Thomas and leaned towards Alfred and Jimmy across the table, motioning for Thomas to do the same.

'Apparently you have all been having some fun without me.' He said.

Thomas frowned in confusion. 'Perhaps a little…but how did you find out?'

'Because I caught this one…' Branson indicated towards Jimmy. 'Hiding under Lady Mary's bed earlier today.'

'What?' Thomas stared at Jimmy, flicking his eyes briefly towards Alfred who was apparently equally clueless.

'I thought something of hers would be better than something of Daisy's.' Jimmy explained quickly in a low voice, dearly hoping that would put an end to it.

'Well anyway…' Said Branson. Jimmy sent a silent 'thank you' to the heavens for answering his prayer. '…I wondered…' He looked so intensely uncomfortable that a few more nervous looks were exchanged between Alfred, Jimmy and Thomas as they waited for him to speak. '…If I might be able to…join you.'

'Join us?' Said Thomas warily.

'There's no fun to be had upstairs. And nothing but…polite or barbed conversation. I wish I could be down here with you.'

Thomas grimaced, thinking that Branson clearly had a very incomplete understanding of the current state of affairs between himself, Alfred and Jimmy (not to mention a rose-tinted view of life below stairs).

'So…' Branson continued, checking that Carson truly had left the servant's hall. 'I wondered if the three of you might join me for a drink.' He gave the package under his arm a little jiggle. 'I brought whiskey.'

Thomas immediately perked up. 'That sounds marvelous Mr Branson.' He said, reasoning that whiskey was more than enough incentive to pretend to be best of friends with Alfred and Jimmy for the night (and suspecting, from their looks of interest, that they felt the same). 'But we can't…' He indicated their immediate vicinity in the servant's hall, where Mr Carson was liable to walk in any minute as they were close to locking up time.

'I still have my keys to the garage and the back door…' Said Branson. 'There's no one needing driving tonight so the chauffeur won't be around. And it's quite warm in there.'

'Lead on!' Said Thomas.

A few minutes later the four of them were sat somewhat awkwardly on their jackets on the floor of the garage (their tight trousers not designed with that particular action in mind) in a circle. They drank out of glasses that Thomas had snagged from the cupboard on the way out, frequently refilling them from the whiskey bottle placed in the center of the circle.

'Well now…' Branson began, slurring a little after three glasses. '…I think this is the point in the night where we should begin discussing putting the world to rights. We should…' He stopped to give a half-burp half-cough. '…talk about the foremost social and technological issues that challenge our world…'

'What? Like whether any of us have discovered a manufacturer of effective underpants?' Said Thomas with a snort.

Branson doubled forwards in laughter.

'Or whether lard works better than pomade on the hair!' Chimed in Alfred.

'Or how many girls we've kissed.' Jimmy said grandly, joining in with the laughter.

Alfred turned to him. 'Now come on, that wouldn't be fair on Mr Barrow!' He said, swaying slightly at the head rush that came with turning his head too sharply.

'Why's that?' Said Branson, pulling his head up from its position between his knees.

Jimmy shrugged. 'He can still answer can't he? Some people think zero is a number.' He said with a smirk, anticipating the drunken conversation soon moving on to new pastures.

'Zero may be a number, but it wouldn't be the truth.' Said Thomas, his mouth quirking into a smirk of his own as Jimmy's abruptly vanished. 'Three!' He announced, holding his whiskey glass aloft before taking a deep swig. Jimmy's eyebrows hit the roof.

Branson raised his glass in a similar, but slightly shakier gesture. He puffed out his chest as he took a breath, all ready to speak. The others leaned slightly towards him in anticipation. 'I…' Branson began, thrusting his glass even further skywards. 'I…' He repeated the gesture. 'I honestly couldn't tell you!' He collapsed forwards in giggles, setting Thomas off in the process.

The two of them clinked their glasses together comically, smiling at one another, although Thomas noticed a dark look momentarily settled over Branson's face and made a mental note to steer any future conversations away from women…and what one does to them when in love.

'One!'

Thomas, Branson and Jimmy turned in surprise at Alfred's announcement.

'Been having a bit more luck with Ivy than you've been letting on?' Said Jimmy in amusement.

'Ah…' Said Alfred teasingly, taking another swig of his drink before continuing. 'I'm not talking about Ivy.' He shifted his seating position slightly to address Thomas. 'Hey, Mr Barrow, do you remember the American Lady's Maid?'

'Oh…my…word…' Said Thomas incredulously. 'You sly dog.' He took a sip of his own glass. 'You may have just gone up in my estimations!'

The calming and euphoric effects of the whiskey allowed Alfred to appreciate the comment in a way he never could have done while sober. He leaned forwards to clink his glass to Thomas's, mimicking Branson's earlier actions. 'Cheers to that.' Alfred said happily.

'So what about _you_ James?' Said Branson, having finally managed to pull himself up into a sitting position.

Thomas turned his attention to Jimmy; more intrigued than he cared to admit to hear the answer.

'No…You can't ask the question back to me, I'm the one who first asked it!' Said Jimmy, looking like a rabbit caught in headlights. 'Its….um…Eton Rules.'

'You didn't go to bloody Eton!' Said Alfred.

'And even if you did, I'm pretty sure that's bollocks!' Added Branson.

Thomas felt, yet again, compelled to intervene on Jimmy's behalf.

'Well, if we're going to play that game…I'll go next by asking, what's the worst thing you've all done while in service?' Said Thomas, having chosen that particular question (if indeed, they were not compelling the 'askers' to answer) in order to cover his own arse against the multiple infractions he could be made to relay. He wasn't quite sure if Isis, Pamuk or the Duke would rank as his worst mistake, but quite sure he didn't feel like sharing those stories with any of them.

'Oh God.' Said Alfred, his expression shifting to one of nostalgia. 'Back at the hotel I once pretended that this Lady's dog escaped from the yard and gone off running down the beach.'

'And what _really_ happened?' Said Thomas.

'It broke it's lead while I was walking it and got hit by a car!' Alfred said, laughing as though telling a furiously funny joke in his drunken state. 'All the hotel staff had to spend all day out looking for it…they never knew I hid it in the flowerbed!'

'Shit! We make a good pair!' Branson piped up. 'I once ran over a dog while on the job. Never told anyone before now!'

Thomas stared between them, thinking that perhaps his own story about Isis wasn't as bad as he had previously thought.

'I don't have anything like that…' Said Jimmy in a small voice.

Thomas had never thought he would hear a man sound quite so disappointed at himself for not having been directly responsible for the death of a dog.

'…but I suppose I did once do a whole dinner service without noticing my trousers were undone.' He said with a grimace, clearly thinking the story was inadequate.

'Me to!' Alfred said enthusiastically. Jimmy gave a nervous laugh in response and, to Thomas's intense pleasure, seemed to relax again. 'But at least yours would have been just a family and a few guests…I was wandering round something like 30 tables for the whole evening before this little old lady pointed it out!' Said Alfred, tears of mirth in his eyes at the memory.

'That's bloody brilliant!' Said Thomas, grabbing the whiskey bottle to top up the glasses of the two Footmen.

'Alright, now me, now me!' Branson pulled himself up to sit on his knees, leaving the others in tense suspense as he took an inordinately long amount of time to actually think up a question. 'If you could have any job, what would you choose?' He eventually said, clearly anticipating the truthful answers would be a lot more exciting than the simple answers of 'Cook' and 'Valet' from Alfred and Jimmy respectively.

'What a pair of bores!' Said Branson. 'Thomas…' The whiskey having finally killed the tenuous grip on social etiquette when it came to correct forms of address. '_Please _tell me you've got a more interesting dream.'

Thomas wrinkled his nose, shifting his feet from his side to bend them at his front, allowing him to prop his elbows up on his knees. He swallowed the contents of his glass and poured himself another before replying. The others, even through their inebriated haze, could tell that his mood had completely plummeted.

'I _had_ a more interesting dream.' Said Thomas. 'Wanted to leave here and go into business.' He said ruefully, taking another deep swallow of whiskey.

'What happened?' Jimmy said softly beside him.

'Was this the black market thing?' Branson interjected.

Thomas grimaced, he'd had a feeling the story had gotten further than Mr Carson had let on among the staff.

'Black market?' Jimmy said dubiously.

Alfred remained silent, but stared at Thomas with as much curiosity as the other two.

Reflexively, Thomas plucked a cigarette from his case and lit it (disregarding Branson's earlier warning about smoking in the building, and reasoning he was far too plastered by that point to care), unable to contemplate re-visiting the storage shed in his mind without the familiar comfort of smoke.

'I got swindled out of my money.' He said reluctantly, his old anger about the event having long since given over to a burning shame. 'Was going to sell on goods to people, but the stuff I bought was rubbish. And I'd given the money before checking so…'

'That was stupid.' Alfred's words were more of a statement than an insult, and Thomas couldn't in all honestly disagree. Both Alfred and Jimmy were staring in wonder at the sight of him, so much more _human _than he usually appeared.

'Anyway…' Thomas took another taste of the cigarette. 'I think I'm glad now that it didn't work out. I can't imagine living on my own anymore, not after all these years of being part of the household. And I've done even better than what I used to dream…about being a Valet.' He finished quietly.

A hush descended in the garage.

'Well…' Said Branson. 'Isn't this nice and depressing!' He leant forward to snag the whiskey bottle from the center of the circle and took a swig directly from the bottle.

'I do apologise!' Said Thomas sarcastically, giving Branson a tiny shove with his arm, almost toppling him over sideways in the process.

Alfred and Jimmy sniggered as Branson inelegantly sat back upright.

'We need something fun to end the evening on!' He announced.

'Like what?' Said Alfred.

Thomas winced internally, already anticipating what Branson was going to say.

'Challenges for tomorrow!' Branson grandly announced. 'Let's think of one we can all do!'

'I think we're done with that for now.' Said Thomas quickly. 'Let's just drink some more.' He pulled the bottle out of Branson's hands. 'Besides, we can't challenge ourselves. Otherwise whoever thinks it up will just make it something they don't mind doing.'

Alfred and Branson moaned in protest, prompting Jimmy to reproach him loudly. 'Trust you to be the stick in the mud Mr Barrow!'

Thomas shot him an unamused glare before shrugging dismissively. 'Well there you have it!'

'Why don't you think of one for us then, if you don't want to play?' Said Branson.

Thomas took a swig out of the whiskey bottle, emulating Branson, before shoving it roughly towards Jimmy who was still glowering at him.

'Alright…' Said Thomas slowly, formulating something that he hoped would be able to satisfy their craving for idiocy while keeping them from doing any real harm. 'First, name me the person at Downton that you're most scared of.'

'The Dowager Countess!' Said Branson immediately. 'Does she count…she is visiting tomorrow?'

Thomas smiled a little at that. If Branson hadn't been quite so drunk, Thomas reasoned he would never have been stupid enough to name the Dowager given that it was obvious that the resulting challenge would relate to the person he named.

'Yes.' Said Thomas. 'She counts.'

'I'm torn between Mrs Patmore and Mr Carson…' Mused Alfred.

Thomas didn't find that the least bit surprising, having anticipated the two of them being Alfred and Jimmy's answer, and expecting Jimmy to pick whichever Alfred left.

'I'd say Mrs Patmore.' Alfred finally announced.

'I'd say Mr Barrow.' Said Jimmy darkly, making a point of pouring out his next drink of whiskey into the glass in front of him rather than drinking from the bottle as Thomas had just done.

'Ouch!' Said Branson, lolling slightly in his attempt to stay upright. 'You know…' He addressed Alfred, who was looking between Jimmy and Thomas nervously. 'One of these days you're going to have to explain this to me!'

Thomas and Jimmy stared at one another for a few moments.

The internal monologue in Thomas's head was muddled and heated, but the words 'ungrateful', 'childish' and 'bastard' made frequent appearances.

Thomas had been intending to challenge the others to 'pinch' the object of their fears during the course of the next day; a relatively inoffensive action that one could make look like an accident. But now, in the face of Jimmy's challenging venom, Thomas suddenly found himself feeling highly ungenerous.

He and Jimmy's pride were well acquainted, too acquainted, and Thomas was well aware of the lengths Jimmy would go to in order to protect it (and the lengths he himself had gone to for Jimmy's behalf). And Thomas knew what being unable to complete the challenge would do to Jimmy's pride. So he decided to make it the one thing that Jimmy absolutely wouldn't do.

'By tomorrow evening, you have to kiss the object of your fear.' Said Thomas brightly, smirking at Jimmy, whose face went bloodless and pale.

'Oh God, what have I done?' Said Branson, falling comically backwards at the thought of the Dowager.

Alfred was momentarily distracted from his impending clinch with Mrs Patmore (and relief that he hadn't named Carson) by trying to read what on earth was going on in Thomas's expression. He was more than a little relieved to recognise that Thomas had stated that particular dare to annoy Jimmy, rather than to actually get a kiss off of him. The latter would have severely damaged the improved opinion of Thomas that Alfred had built up since the _unfortunate incident_.

'So…' Said Thomas brightly. 'I think we can guess who is going to fail that particular dare…' He took a satisfied drag on his cigarette.

A shadow fell across his vision as someone moved between him and the lamplight. The figure gave him no time to react before pressing their lips firmly together, just long enough to elicit gasps from the other occupants, before speedily withdrawing.

Thomas watched, stunned and motionless, as Jimmy sat back down again. The last mouthful of smoke he had taken wafting slowly out of his mouth as he stared at Jimmy.

'To the victor.' Said Jimmy, raising his glass in a mock toast before downing the contents.

Thomas cleared his throat. 'Touché…I suppose.' He said.

'Well there's something you don't see every day.' Slurred Branson, reaching for the whiskey again.

Alfred looked in bewilderment at Jimmy and Thomas for a while before…

'Oh God…Mrs Patmore!' He suddenly remembered.

**NOTES – A huge thank you to notfoul-barrow for the suggestion of Daisy's apron, to shana-rosee for the kissing question suggestion, and to kobriena for the truth suggestions about service related mistakes and regrets! Also, thank you kobriena for the suggestion of _that_ dare for Jimmy (Please forgive me for making it 'public' rather than private…atm!).**


	3. Wednesday - A writhing 'good' time

**It Escalated – Chapter 3**

**Wednesday – A writhing 'good' time**

**WARNINGS for (non-sexual) naughtiness and language. **

Thomas wasn't overly pleased with the events of the previous night, especially not the way he kept catching himself unconsciously licking at his lips. He had entered the servant's hall for breakfast with a feeling of intense trepidation; suspecting that Jimmy and Alfred may become somewhat less amenable minus the socially lubricating effects of alcohol, and fearing potential repercussions ensuing from the unexpected kiss.

He had nothing to fear.

Jimmy carried himself with the usual self-assured arrogance, seeming entirely himself and in no way unnerved (around Thomas or anyone else). If the dare was affecting his mood in any way, it was limited to inflating his ego; having technically beaten Alfred and Branson to the punch in completing his task first.

Thomas wondered if Jimmy would be angry at his pointing out that a peck on the cheek (or, if Jimmy hadn't been such an infuriating prat in the first place, a pinch on the arm) would have been sufficient. Although, looking at the gleefully evil glances that Jimmy kept shooting Alfred when Mrs Patmore came into view, Thomas found himself wondering if it had actually been a conscious decision on Jimmy's part in order to set the bar almost impossibly high for the others.

Later, as Thomas found himself smirking at the look on Alfred's face as he anxiously hopped out of the kitchen (without having completed his task) for the third time that morning, he had to admit that Jimmy's actions _had_ improved on his initial idea...not to mention the level of entertainment.

'I can't, I bloody can't!' Whispered Alfred, spying Thomas standing in the corridor.

'You'd be better off doing it before Jimmy makes it back downstairs...' Said Thomas, glancing at the kitchen staff bustling away at the end of the corridor.

'I can't!' Alfred hissed, jogging a litttle on the spot in his agitation.

'What's the problem?' Said Thomas, pretending to give his nails a once-over to hide the merriment in his eyes. 'Just think of her like a kindly Auntie who's given you a treat or something.'

'Can you imagine me kissing my Aunt?'

Thomas looked at him quizzically for a moment before realising. 'Ah...' This time Thomas couldn't do a thing to control the grin stretching at the corners of his mouth. 'Oh don't tell me Miss O'Brien never gave you pocket money or sweets when you were little!' He teased, not sure which part of the image he found the most ridiculous.

'Shut up!' Alfred growled at him.

'Alfred!' Mr Carson's indignant form appeared seemingly out of nowhere. 'That is _not_ an appropriate way to address your superior…'

Thomas blinked in surprise at Carson putting propriety ahead of his blatant favoritism for Alfred, for once. The world was rapidly put back to normal as Carson continued.

'…no matter how much Mr Barrow may provoke it.'

'And fuck you too Mr Carson.' Thomas muttered under his breath.

He realised both Alfred and Mr Carson were staring at him.

Thomas cleared his throat. 'I agree with you, Mr Carson.' He said brightly.

'Very good.' Said Carson, looking warily at Thomas as he continued on his way to the staircase.

Alfred and Thomas watched him go silently before breaking out into sniggers as soon as he vanished up the stairs.

The mirth on Alfred's face disappeared as soon as he caught sight of Mrs Patmore again through the open doorway up ahead.

Thomas couldn't help but feel a flash of sympathy at Alfred's misery, watching as he took a few steps towards the kitchens, only to lose his nerve before even making it into the kitchen that time.

Thomas sighed. 'Come on!' He said, gripping Alfred by his upper arm to march him towards the kitchen.

Alfred was sufficiently surprised by the move to momentarily forget his urge to run away. Just as his panic and fear began to creep back in, Thomas stopped, leaving the two of them standing just outside the kitchen doorway.

Thomas took a step back from Alfred, who looked utterly bewildered, and gave him a quick smile and a wink.

'You cannot be trusted to do anything!' Thomas said, very loudly, angling his mouth more towards the kitchen than towards Alfred. 'You clumsy clod-hopper! It's a mystery to me why this house has to suffer your complete…'

'Oh Mr Barrow, give over!' Mrs Hughes appeared suddenly in the kitchen doorway. 'Don't pretend like you never made mistakes when you were a Footman!' She spoke firmly but warmly. 'Now, Alfred, the tea tray is ready to go up if you'll just…'

Alfred went for it.

With bent knees, a hunched back, a light hand on each of her shoulders, and eyes screwed shut, he kissed her. And it was fine…until his mind had time to process the fact he was actually kissing her.

Her lips were thin and pressed tightly together in shock, and he feared for his life upon withdrawing, but amid his rising panic his noes registered a powdery fresh smell from her skin (underlying all the odors of the kitchen) that stirred up a hint of nostalgia from an unknown lady in his past. The emotions it aroused were pleasant and warming.

His terror of how Mrs Patmore would react upon getting over her initial shock had Alfred lingering a little longer than necessary, but at a sharp prod in his side (that he presumed was from Thomas) he withdrew as swiftly as he had descended.

'Oh THANK YOU Mrs Patmore!' He gushed. 'Thank you for telling Mr Barrow off!'

His face matching the color of his hair, Alfred quickly retreated into the kitchen to grab the tea tray and was off down the corridor in a flash.

Mrs Patmore watched him go with an expression of intense open-mouthed confusion. Thomas waited nervously by her side, ready to spring to Alfred's aid if she did decide to take off after him.

Their eyes met.

Thomas gave a small shrug in response to Mrs Patmore's bewildered gaze. She responded by shaking her head, staring after Alfred, and having a brief chuckle. 'I trust he doesn't react like that when Mr Carson has to come and rescue him from you…?' She said, laughing quite convincingly but still more than a little dumbfounded.

'No…he does not.' Said Thomas slowly, allowing himself to join in with Mrs Patmore's giggles as it became apparent she wasn't going to skin Alfred alive.

As Mrs Patmore headed back into the kitchen, still laughing, Thomas congratulated himself on two good turns done that morning; allowing Alfred to maintain his masculine pride by completing his challenge, and giving Mrs Patmore a little bit more of a glow than she had had in years.

'What was that about?'

Thomas snapped out of his trance to see that Daisy had crept over to the doorway, Mrs Patmore and Ivy having briefly slid out of sight into the store room.

'I can't think what you mean.' Said Thomas with a wry grin.

'Alfred and Mrs Patmore! And Jimmy and my apron the other day…' Exclaimed Daisy, never one to acknowledge (or notice) nuances of conversation when her mind was engaged on more pressing issues.

Thomas glanced towards the store room. Seeing that Ivy and Mrs Patmore were still safely inside he quickly whispered. 'If you want to know, you have to promise not to tell…'

'I promise.' She said instantly, looking earnestly up at him.

An impish impulse called for him to make something up (or at least to keep silent) but Daisy's look was so endearing, and his own lingering glow from his charitable kindness to Alfred so warming, that he found himself reasoning that it couldn't do _too_ much harm to put her out of her misery.

'Alright...' Thomas whispered. 'There's a game of dares going on at the moment. Alfred was dared to kiss Mrs Patmore...' As he saw some of the confusion and worry drain out of Daisy's face, he began to congratulate himself on his _third_ good turn of the morning.

But his mood rapidly fell as Daisy's brow creased into another frown.

'And Jimmy was dared to ask for my apron?' She said slowly.

That got Thomas's attention.

'_Ask_?' He said, his nostrils giving a slight flare as he took a sharp breath.

'Yes…' Said Daisy, even more confused at the sudden shift in Thomas's mood. 'He asked if he could borrow it and said he'd return it…But then Mrs Patmore shouted at me for not having it on so I came to get it back…' She trailed off, staring at Thomas's face which had set itself into an expression as hard and unyielding as marble.

When he noticed her concerned expression, Thomas's forced his demeanor to brighten.

'Well I hope it didn't give you too much trouble.' He said, flashing her a winning smile before heading off to go about his morning duties.

He found his mood somewhat blackened.

In the mid-afternoon quiet Thomas was making his rounds of the upstairs rooms, checking for lackluster work from the maids, and happily coming upon nothing of the sort, when he spotted Jimmy at work on the clock in the hallway.

Thomas turned away from the next room on his agenda and slowly stepped down the corridor towards him.

Jimmy heard him approaching, but other than a brief glance over his shoulder made a show of paying him no mind. Although his shoulders did perceptibly tense up as Thomas approached.

'Getting on alright?' Said Thomas easily.

Jimmy shot him another look over his shoulder, trying and failing to pull off a look of 'disinterested disdain'. He speedily pocketed the winding key.

'Very well thank you, Mr Barrow.' Said Jimmy, taking a defensive step back as he turned towards him.

'Alfred landed one on Mrs Patmore this morning.' Said Thomas, coming to a stop a little further away than respectability strictly demanded.

Jimmy's eyebrows shot up in surprise as his lips quirked in amusement. 'Wish I could have seen that!' He said, a genuine (but slightly malicious) shine behind his eyes.

'It was something.' Said Thomas, voice still pleasant and level.

'Didn't think he had it in him.' Said Jimmy, grinning broadly at the floor as he mentally pictured the event.

'Didn't think you had it in _you_.' Said Thomas, a touch of hardness entering his voice.

Jimmy shrugged, this time managing a convincing portrayal of dismissiveness, as he glanced up at Thomas with a patronising and calculatedly pitying look.

'I'd like to thank you actually.' Said Thomas quietly.

'Oh, I'll bet you would.' Said Jimmy, his posture and expression superficially assured almost to the point of being painful to behold.

'I would.' Thomas said simply. 'Last night I finally got what you've been trying to tell me for months.'

Jimmy's bravado noticeably slipped.

Thomas kept him hanging for a little while before continuing.

'Yes…It's not nice being kissed by someone that you don't like.'

Thomas turned on his heel and resumed his inspection of the first floor rooms, deciding that the drama of such an exit more than made up for missing Jimmy's reaction.

But if Jimmy's prickly mood during the after dinner drinks service that evening was anything to go by, it hadn't been good.

Still, there were more pressing matters at hand.

From Branson's nervous fidgeting (and more rapid than usual wine consumption) during the dinner, Alfred, Jimmy and Thomas wagered that he hadn't yet decided on a means of approaching the Dowager in order to uphold his commitment to the game. As the three of them went through the motions of the overly elaborate service they each managed to shoot Branson a teasing wink (unnoticed, or so they severely hoped, by the other dinners), which did nothing for his nerves. The addition of several of Lord Grantham's old army comrades to the dining party didn't help either and he was doing a poor job of contributing to the conversation amid his crushing anxiety.

It definitely didn't help that the Dowager herself, having the fresh meat of the ex-soldiers to cut her tongue on, was particularly on fire that evening in terms of shrewd and withering observations.

As the dinner concluded and the women left the men at the dining table, the three staff members (and an unsuspecting Carson) were left to wait expectantly for the men to rejoin the party.

Branson, when he reappeared, looked in a terrible state. He looked as red as Alfred had _after _he kissed Mrs Patmore, and none too steady on his feet.

'Tom, are you quite well?' Cora said in concern as the low electric lamp light highlighted the state that Branson was in.

'I'm perfectly fine…'

Alfred, Jimmy and Thomas watched with baited breath as Branson took the seat next to the Dowager on the sofa.

'Completely fine…'

There was a collective gasp in the room as Branson slipped a little sideways as if to fall off the seat. Quick as a flash, and somehow managing to seem utterly unflapped and wearily judgmental as she did so, the Dowager put a hand on his arm to steady him.

The hand was instantly removed (and, Thomas noted, unsurreptitiously brushed against the fabric of the sofa before being returned to her lap) as Branson moved back upright.

And then precisely nothing happened.

Nothing except a slight pursing of the Dowagers lips and a comment about the dangers of civilians attempting to drink with those who have spent a little time in the army (and a _lot_ of time in gentleman's drinking clubs).

The three members of staff released the breath they had been holding and looked at one another in confusion as the after dinner drinks party continued as normal.

As he stood by the front door to escort the Dowager out to the car, Jimmy and Alfred just returning from doing the same for the ex-army officers, Thomas was a little startled when Branson suddenly came running out of the house.

'I am so glad I caught you, Lady Violet!' Said Branson, panting a little at the exertion of running. 'I just wanted to say…' He said, completely ignoring Thomas's presence. '…that I appreciate your looking out for me, as a member of the family.'

Thomas's eyes bulged out of their sockets as Branson darted forward to place a quick kiss on the Dowager's lips before flashing her a winning smile and retreating back into the house.

Thomas was impressed, 'masterfully done' he mused as he watched him go.

The Dowager was, for the first time in a long while, rendered mute. There was nothing unusual in her declining to speak with Thomas on their walks to the chauffeured car, but at that particular moment the way she kept opening her mouth and giving a slight twitch of her head before shrinking back again, unable to find the words, was both comical and telling.

Thomas didn't dare comment.

'Well...' The Dowager eventually said as they reached the car. 'I'm not quite sure whether to advise that he be given smaller or larger glasses of brandy in the future!'

Thomas smiled at her as he held his arm out to help her into the car.

When he made it back to the servant's hall he found quite a few people still awake, but his attention was immediately focused on Jimmy and Alfred, in their usual spot playing cards down the end of the table.

'He cracked it.' Said Thomas as he walked over to them.

Alfred turned in his seat to look back at him. 'Cracked what?'

'What do you think?' Said Thomas sarcastically. He couldn't help but notice (amid a wave of déjà vu from Monday) Jimmy sneaking a quick look at one of the cards that Alfred had laid out on the table. He also saw Jimmy swapping one of the cards in his own hand for one hidden up his sleeve.

'Oh! He never!' Exclaimed Alfred, distracting Thomas from his cold observation of Jimmy.

Thomas was just about to nod in the affirmative when a familiar voice rang out from the doorway to the servant's hall.

'Gentlemen!' Branson said grandly, completely ignoring the other occupants of the room as they scrambled to their feet, clutching a suspiciously bottle shaped item wrapped in cloth under his arm. 'You know what to do…'

He turned and walked out.

Alfred and Jimmy quickly swept up the cards scattered on the table to follow Branson and Thomas out to the garage.

'I would like to propose a toast…' Branson announced, equally grandly, once they were all seated (un)comfortably on the ground. 'To trauma that we shall never forget.'

The four men reached their glasses in to clink them, somewhat messily as each one contained well over what could be considered and acceptable measure of whisky.

'May this bollocks never come back to haunt us!' Said Branson, holding his glass up to the ceiling before fixing it to his lower lip and proceeding to sink the contents in no more than three enthusiastic gulps.

Deciding that they, each in their own different way, had earned it, Thomas and Alfred did the same. Although the contents of their glasses disappeared a little slower as they did not have the benefit of numbing tipsiness that clearly already had Branson in it's grip. They both fought the urge to gag on completion, and Thomas event went as far as to allow himself an entirely out of character belch in order to release the reflex.

While attempting to follow suit, Jimmy actually _did_ manage to gag while the glass was still at his lips, sending whiskey painfully up into his nose. He coughed and spluttered, Alfred hammering on his back, while Branson laughed and told him it was perfectly acceptable to take it slow. Jimmy responded by holding his nose, tilting his head back, and sinking the remaining contents in a single swallow.

Thomas watched him dully.

'Can I get some more of that?' Said Thomas, holding his empty glass in the direction of the whiskey bottle, willing the contents to magically transfer.

'Here…' Said Alfred, getting shakily to his knees to unstopper the bottle and fill Thomas's glass, clearly feeling a little the worse for wear amid the inevitable head rush of far too much drunk far too fast.

'Feeling left out, Thomas?' Said Branson with a grin. 'Wish you could join the ranks of we three champions of daring?'

'Two champions maybe, not three.' Said Thomas, taking a purposefully long sip as he avoided Jimmy's eyes entirely. 'Come on…I bet you and Alfred would have rather had me than Mrs Patmore or Lady Violet.'

Branson snorted, made eye contact with Alfred, then snorted again.

'I think you might be right!' He said, pouring himself another glass of whiskey. 'But that don't mean I want to…'

Thomas held up a hand and gave a brisk nod of reassurance. 'I weren't getting at anything of the sort.'

Silence reigned briefly in the garage.

'Tell the other two how you managed to get Daisy's apron the other day.' Said Thomas eventually, turning a condescendingly simpering and whiskey fueled smile in Jimmy's direction.

'A gentleman never tells.' Said Jimmy instantly, moving to take hold of the whiskey bottle.

'Believe me, he does when he's in the company of other gentlemen!' Said Branson with a laugh.

'Yes, but not when there's ladies present.' Said Jimmy, glancing pointedly towards Thomas, a hint of triumph behind his drunkenly wide eyes in having seized upon the chance to pay Thomas back for his earlier insult.

'Whoa!' Exclaimed Branson and Alfred, before giving whistles and claps at Jimmy's wit. Or at least, what was perceived of as with to those who half-empty whiskey bottles in under ten minutes.

Thomas closed his eyes for a moment, considering carefully (or as carefully as his current state would allow) before speaking.

'You two do know that he didn't actually steal it, don't you?' He said. 'He _asked _her to borrow it.'

Jimmy's face was suddenly the very picture of shocked distress.

'You didn't, did you?' Said Alfred, lurching a little towards him.

Thomas couldn't resist a slight smirk at the strength of Alfred's faith in Jimmy, no one else could have seen the look on his face and not realised the truth.

Jimmy stuttered, but was unable to come up with a reply.

'You cheated!' Said Alfred. 'I bloody kiss Mrs Patmore and you can't even nick an apron off one of the maids without cheating!'

'Well that's _very_ poor form if it's true.' Said Branson in a low voice, that managed to send slight shivers down Thomas's spine at the danger contained within, as he crawled forward a little closer to Jimmy.

'Course it's bloody true. Look at his face…Oh...' Thomas turned to Alfred. '…by the way, he cheats at cards too. With a poker face like that…' He indicated towards Jimmy, who looked as though he were about to bolt for the door. '…he has to.'

'You've had two sodding shillings off me over cards!' Shouted Alfred.

'He's lying!' Said Jimmy, pulling all of his energy into taking control of his facial expression. 'He's just bitter that I beat him at his own game last night!'

Thomas lurched forwards, prying the whiskey bottle out of Jimmy's hand and setting it viciously down on the floor before thrusting two fingers up Jimmy's shirt sleeve.

He grinned with his eyes as he pulled out a playing card.

'Wipe your nose with the four of diamonds, do you?' He said, swiping the card against the tip of Jimmy's nose before letting it fall to the floor for Alfred and Branson to see.

'You little bastard!' Said Branson indignantly, more for the sake of some amorphous understanding of appropriate masculine behavior rather than for Alfred, but the effect was the same.

'Why would you do that!?' Shouted Alfred, throwing himself forward too fast for anyone to react.

Seconds later he had Jimmy pinned to the floor by the lapels of his jacket, and the latter was a dusty, flustered, mess from trying to roll out and escape.

Thomas sat back on his heels and smiled, taking a sip of his whiskey.

'Looks like my work here is done.' He thought to himself as Jimmy gave a yelp of distress as Alfred accidently pulled his shirt collar too tight against his neck.

'You little bastard.' Branson repeated, though a little less angrily than before. His face suddenly shifted into something highly mischievous. He crawled forwards to kneel level with Alfred over Jimmy. 'You know what we used to do to people who cheated and lied to their friends back in my old village…?'

Alfred ceased his pawing at Jimmy's shoulders and neck at Branson's words, enabling Jimmy to give a miserable shake of his head.

Branson grinned.

He pulled Jimmy's upper torso off the ground by the lapels of his jacket and swiveled his body round to lie over Thomas's knees. Thomas jumped in surprise and dropped his glass.

'Never mind that!' Said Branson as Thomas leant sideways to retrieve it. 'Just take his arms.'

Thomas, feeling drunk, malicious and distinctly curious, was happy to comply.

He pulled Jimmy's arms by the elbow to high above his head, trying not to look too intrigued as Branson began to pull Jimmy's shirt tails out of his trouser waistband.

'What are you…?' Alfred slid over to Branson's side.

'You'll see!' Said Branson cheerfully. 'Now go and get some of that grass.' He said, nodding in the direction of a patch of weeds growing through a crack between the concrete floor and the wall of the garage.

Both Alfred and Thomas made slightly wary eye contact as Branson began to unbutton Jimmy's waistcoat.

'What the FUCK do you think you're doing?' Shouted Jimmy, struggling ineffectively against both Thomas's grip and Branson's progress in undressing him.

'You'll see!' Branson repeated. 'Come on Alfred, chop chop.'

At Branson's authoritative instruction, Alfred found himself stumbling to his feet to hunt for grass as per instruction; frowning in confusion the entire time.

'Turn him over for a second.' Said Branson to Thomas, completely disregarding Jimmy's shouts as he pulled his stiff shirt-front away.

Within a few moments Branson had Jimmy stripped from the waist up and once again securely anchored by Thomas's firm grip on his arms, pulling them up and over Jimmy's head to rest against his stomach as Jimmy's back lay on his bent knees.

Thomas's ankles protested at the extra weight, but nowhere near as vigorously as Jimmy protested his current predicament, so Thomas was able to disregard the twinges of pain tolerably.

Jimmy jerked violently back and forth, but with Thomas holding his arms tight and Branson sitting on his legs, there was little else he could do other than uselessly engage first one muscle group then another on his exposed torso in a doomed effort to dislodge his captors.

Thomas watched the distressed clenching and releasing of the muscles in Jimmy's chest and stomach with a sense of detachment, although his heart did give a tiny twinge when Jimmy contorted his head backwards to silently plead with him to put an end to it.

Thomas responded to the plea with another sickly sweet smile, tightening his grip on Jimmy's arms as Alfred rejoined them.

Alfred, still frowning and looking highly dubious, passed the handful of dry and largely dead grass over to Branson.

Grinning from ear to ear, Branson separated the clump out into two sets of a few choice blades and discarded the rest before passing one of them back to Alfred.

'Get off me!' Jimmy shouted, his voice painfully hoarse.

'You do it like so…' Said Branson to Alfred, ignoring Jimmy's demand entirely as he lowered the tips of the blades of grass to run them slowly and lightly down the central line of the skin of his stomach.

Jimmy twisted in frustration, maddened by the slow progress of the grass across his skin.

Branson responded by abandoning the straight pathway he had been tracing to brush small circles into the side of Jimmy's waist, deliberately moving even more slowly and shifting his hand in line with Jimmy's own movements to maintain contact.

Thomas wasn't entirely sure what to make of it.

'What are you doing?' Said Alfred.

Branson extracted the grass from Jimmy's stomach to lightly brush it against Alfred's cheek.

Thomas was very conscious of the fact that Jimmy was continuing to squirm against his knees (and the floor) even without Branson's touch.

'What the hell…' Alfred said, drawing back in surprise. Almost instantly he felt compelled to raise a hand to scratch at his cheek with his fingernails. 'That bloody tickles!'

'Mhmmmm.' Said Branson slowly, bending down to resume the torment. Alfred's face suddenly cracked into a grin as wide as Branson's as he went to join him.

'Wait, do me!' Said Thomas, intrigued.

Alfred knelt up over Jimmy to sweep the grass against Thomas's cheek.

Thomas felt nothing for a moment, but was then suddenly gripped with the desperate need to scratch. He laughed and leant his head to one side to brush his cheek against the fabric of his jacket; his hands currently otherwise engaged in holding Jimmy stretched out and open to receive the same treatment across his entire upper body...minus the means to actually relieve the torturous itch.

Thomas smirked at Branson's ingenuity, and watched contentedly as the torture continued.

It wasn't long before Jimmy was practically screaming (or at least, he would have been if he hadn't already shouted himself hoarse), writhing desperately to simultaneously beg contact and to hinder it.

Alfred concentrated his attentions on Jimmy's belly, while the more mischievous Branson tormented his chest, cackling away as they worked, both sounding more like hyenas than humans.

Thomas laughed too.

But somewhere amid Jimmy's gargled, and now tearful, protests, and the reverberating hysterical laughter of Alfred and Branson, Thomas found himself becoming uneasy.

He looked down slowly at Jimmy's bare arms, that he held tightly in his grip, at the tear-streaked grimace on Jimmy's face, at the distressed twisting of his naked torso, and at the way the waistband of his trousers had been pulled almost indecently low to allow full access to his stomach and hips…

Thomas suddenly found his mischievous abandon replaced by a cart-load of guilt.

'That's enough, eh?' He said, his voice coming out much more gravelly than he had expected.

The other three were all far too occupied to notice.

'I said, THAT'S ENOUGH!' Thomas shouted, releasing Jimmy's arms and leaning forward slightly to shove Branson backwards by his shoulder.

Branson fell back, clutching Alfred for support. The two of them briefly exchanged another laugh before looking back to Thomas.

Their laughter became unsteady and eventually died as the followed his gaze to the floor; to Jimmy who was hunched over on his side, curled up impossibly small, sobbing and shaking.

They stayed where they were, listening as Jimmy's howls faded into soft gasps.

The silence that ensued was deafening.

'Sorry.'

Alfred looked miserably down at his hands as he spoke.

'Me too.'

Thomas said quietly.

'Suppose that got a bit out of hand.'

Said Branson awkwardly.

Another silence took hold, during which Thomas settled on the depressing realisation of the easiest way to simultaneously lighten the mood and to get the focus of attention off Jimmy for long enough to let him pull himself together.

He sighed.

'So who's got a challenge for me tomorrow then?'

The suggestion had the desired effect.

A lengthy debate, more apologies and the rest of the bottle of whiskey later, Alfred, Branson and Thomas found themselves guilt-tripped into accepting two excruciatingly undesirable challenges from a chastised, but highly disgruntled, Jimmy Kent.

**NOTES – A huge thank you again to notfoul-barrow for the suggestion of Daisy's apron, to shana-rosee for the kissing question suggestion…and to a fetish website discussion board for the 'grass'!**


	4. Thursday - Bananas

**It Escalated – Chapter 4**

**Thursday – Jimmy's Revenge Part 1 (aka. 'Bananas') **

'I've thought of another one.' Said Alfred, leaning across the table in the servant's hall towards Thomas who sat opposite.

'Oh yes…?' Said Thomas, his hand twitching nervously as he rested it against the table despite his best efforts to appear to be reading the paper with languid nonchalance.

Alfred leaned closer. 'Bash his head in with a frying pan!' He whispered.

Thomas raised an eyebrow. Of all the twenty seven methods that Alfred had so far proposed for killing Jimmy, that one was by far the least imaginative. Other gems had included locking him in the wine cellar till he starved, running him down with a car or holding his head under water. (Thomas had declined to point out that getting Jimmy into the water at all would have had the desired effect, no need to hold him under.)

Alfred sniffed nervously for the third time in under a minute, sounding as though he were trying to dislodge something.

'For God's sake, would you _stop_ that!?' Said Thomas angrily. 'I'm having a bad enough time without dealing with your nerves as well.'

'_Why_ is he making us do this?' Alfred demanded at a whisper. He once again jerked forward over the table towards Thomas. 'And why did we bloody agree to it?'

Movement over by the door briefly distracted the both of them and they watched with a sinking feeling as Mr Carson entered the (already crowded) servant's hall.

Thomas ran his tongue over his bone dry lips.

'Because we were a shower of bastards to him yesterday, and we made him cry.' Thomas reminded Alfred, suddenly sounding highly dubious of that reasoning himself now that the moment was upon them. He watched Mr Carson make his way round Mrs Hughes and Anna to talk to Bates, feeling decidedly nauseous.

'Oh bollocks.' Thomas and Alfred chorused as Miss O'Brien appeared in the doorway; Alfred from the genetically coded reluctance of most humans to abhor humiliation in the presence of relatives, Thomas because…because _O'Brien_.

Her presence shouldn't have been a surprise to them, the few minutes before lunch was one of the rare times of day that one could guarantee almost complete attendance in the servant's hall. And Jimmy intended to take full advantage of that fact.

'I can't do this.' Said Alfred, flushing pink after accidently catching O'Brien's eye as she looked quizzically at him for being sat down the far end of the table, and with Thomas of all people.

'Neither can I, but we're bloody doing it.' Said Thomas shakily, briefly discarding the newspaper to fish for a much needed cigarette in the box in front of him.

Of course, that _would_ be the moment that Jimmy chose to make his grand entrance. (Well, 'grand' to Thomas and Alfred due to knowing what was to come, the other staff continued to chatter in ignorant bliss.)

Thomas shot Jimmy a desperate look, lighter and cigarette poised in his hands, but his hopes for a few minutes more respite were rapidly dashed by the wicked grin he saw looking back at him.

'Oh good!' Said Jimmy loudly. 'I'm so glad you two are here already!'

Thomas found himself fantasising about breaking a chair over Jimmy's head (No. 11 on Alfred's list of murderous musings, if he remembered correctly).

'Everyone!' Called Jimmy, as though he hadn't said the previous sentence loudly enough to draw the attention of everyone in the room. 'Everyone! I have a little pre-food entertainment for you…with Mr Carson's permission of course…?' Jimmy plastered on his best expression of deference and humility as he looked pleadingly at Mr Carson.

Now back in his seat at the head of the table, Carson pursed his lips. 'And what is the nature of this entertainment?' He said dubiously.

Just for a second, Thomas and Alfred entertained the vain hope that Carson would put a stop to the shenanigans before they had actually begun.

'A little music, Mr Carson.' Said Jimmy brightly. 'You see, last night Mr Barrow and Alfred were going on and on about this American song that they heard on the radio, it's from a Broadway review. I thought I'd do the gentlemanly thing and offer to play it for them and yourselves so that we can all appreciate it. It's a nice happy tune.'

Mr Carson nodded slowly, suspiciously.

'By all means James!' Mrs Hughes said quickly, shooting a cautionary glance in the direction of Mr Carson. 'I'm sure we would all appreciate it.'

'Thank you Mrs Hughes!' Beamed Jimmy.

He moved swiftly over to sit at the piano while the other staff shifted slightly in their seats to look over.

Thomas put the unlit cigarette back in it's pack and shot a pointed look at Alfred. Alfred remained silent, sullenly staring at the table. Thomas gave him a quick kick.

Alfred kicked him back, glaring at him while simultaneously looking as though he wanted to cry.

Thomas swore internally.

'Would anyone mind if Alfred and I sang along?' He said brightly…through gritted teeth.

'Oh yes that would be wonderful.' Said Alfred without any enthusiasm whatsoever.

'You…sing?' Said Mrs Hughes incredulously, as several others round the table raised their eyebrows or exchanged looks to check that they'd heard correctly.

'Yes. Sing.' Said Thomas, punching each word out of his mouth as though it caused him physical pain behind his huge fake smile.

'Sing?' Said Mr Carson, tilting his head a little, mistrusting his own ears even after hearing the suggestion repeated three times.

'Oh my word, I can't wait!' Said Anna, stunned but curious, and that ended the discussion.

'I think it best if you stand.' Jimmy said from his perch on the piano stool.

'Oh you…' Alfred began to whisper, but another kick from Thomas under the table shut him up immediately.

They both reluctantly got to their feet.

'Strangling!' Hissed Alfred to Thomas. 'That's another one!' Before the two of them turned to face the now VERY expectant tableau of viewers.

Grinning, Jimmy immediately gave a quick mash down on the piano keys to indicate that the two of them should begin.

Thomas and Alfred's eyes widened, suddenly realising they were obliged to sing out part of the first line _before_ the piano accompaniment would start.

They missed their cue entirely.

To say that the ensuing silence was 'awkward' would be _something_ of an understatement.

Thomas's internal monologue loudly informed him that it wanted this fiasco over with as soon as possible.

Shooting Alfred a look that promised a world of pain if he didn't follow, Thomas loudly cleared his throat and sang to the floor.

'Yes…We have no bananas!'

By some miracle, Alfred managed to join him on the second line.

'We have no bananas today!'

Jimmy's shoulders hunched up in laughter but he, also, managed to fulfill his end of the bargain by providing a jingly tune by which they could butcher the song to.

The song _was _about food, or rather, a shortage of food. But Thomas and, surprisingly, Alfred both had sufficiently quirky minds to find it quite impossible to hear the word 'banana' without equating it with…_another _largely cylindrical object of somewhere between four and ten inches in length.

Consequently, being forced to declare that they in fact had 'no bananas' for the first two lines of the song was a double torment. Once for the lines themselves, and second for the expressions of shock, awkwardness and (in more than a few cases) amusement on the faces of the rapt audience.

The following verse was excruciating for all concerned. Not because of the words, the lyrics were something akin to reeling off a shopping list, but because both Alfred and Thomas (in their distress) began to sound painfully like young men in the midst of puberty in their efforts to find the correct notes; neither of them having a lick of singing experience to speak of (nor likely to, given the current performance). And the urge to giggle hysterically as a means to dull the humiliation was rapidly building in both men.

A couple of people, Mrs Hughes among them, actually began wincing as the song went on.

Upon declaring again 'Yes…We have no bananas' once the second refrain came around, Thomas completely cracked up, setting Jimmy off as well, and to such a degree that Jimmy became physically unable to play.

Alfred soldiered on for a few more syllables before realising that both Jimmy and Thomas were indisposed.

'I think that is _quite _enough of that!' Said Carson darkly from his seat at the head of the table.

A few of the onlookers were clearly struggling to suppress giggles of their own and were happy of the distraction when Anna began to clap. The (somewhat ironic) applause quickly spread round the table.

Deciding there was nothing else for it, Thomas and Alfred took a slight bow. They then took a second, more reluctant, bow when Jimmy rose from the piano stool to stand beside them to share in the applause; grinning sideways at them like a Cheshire cat.

'Scalping…' Thomas thought to himself. 'We could scalp him!'

Mercifully, the arrival of Ivy and Daisy with the food provided the perfect excuse to scurry into the nearest chairs (precedence be damned) and ignore the curious and bemused looks that were still being shot at them from the other end of the table.

Breathing heavily, and with a face like a furnace, Thomas fished a pen out of his pocket and scrawled the word 'BASTARD' on the newspaper before thrusting it towards Jimmy with a glare.

Jimmy grabbed the pen out of Thomas's hand, scrawling his own note before returning the paper to Thomas.

'But you love me anyway.'

Thomas smiled reflexively at the distant and happy memory that the words invoked and glanced up at Jimmy, whose grin briefly melted into something softer.

Both their faces hardened almost immediately at the realisation of what they were doing.

Jimmy reached out to crumple up the front sheet of the newspaper, suddenly blushing as furiously as Thomas and Alfred.

After a brief 'What are _you_ staring at?' look passed between them, both Thomas and Jimmy turned gratefully to the plates which had appeared in front of them.

Beside them, Alfred rocked ever so slightly back and forth in his seat.

'I'm very proud of you both.' Said Jimmy patronisingly.

Alfred sighed miserably. 'Well at least it's Mr Branson's turn tomorrow.'

'Mmmmhmmm.' Thomas murmured in agreement, completely ignoring the food as it was placed in front of him to (finally) have a cigarette.

**Note – Thank you to the wonderful 'catthetamedshrew' for suggesting the singing of a song with dubious lyrics! (Again, I have been naughty and changed the person suggested! Sorry, sorry, sorry! I clearly suck at following prompts!) The song 'Yes, we have no bananas' sung by Spike Jones can be found on Youtube (skip to 0:40ish) if you are so inclined!**


	5. Friday - Playing dress-down

**It Escalated – Chapter 5**

**Friday – Jimmy's Revenge Part 2 (aka. 'Playing dress-down')**

The boys looked up and stared so intently at every person that appeared in the doorway to the servant's hall the next morning that Daisy and Ivy (required to leave and re-appear multiple times to bring out the staff breakfast) were starting to feel more than a little nervous. The task of keeping a careful watch on the door to the servant's hall was made harder for Alfred, sitting facing away from it, than for Thomas and Jimmy (who had, for some reason, decided to sit on the opposite side of the table to usual).

'Damn!' Alfred exclaimed loudly as half the contents of his glass of orange juice deposited themselves in his lap as he turned, yet again, only to find Ivy entering the hall with another plate of toast.

All at once, the humiliation of clumsiness, the resulting need to climb all the way up to the attic to change his trousers, and the certainty that he would then miss what he had been eagerly waiting for crashed over him. The indignant look on Mr Carson's face at the utterance of such language over the breakfast table was an added bonus.

'Sorry, I'll…' Alfred began.

'You will go and put yourself to rights this instant.' Said Carson levelly. 'And you will not let us hear you using such language again.'

'Of course, Mr Carson.' Alfred quickly got to his feet, blushing furiously at the mess he had made of himself. 'I'm very sorry Mr Carson.'

He shot a dark glance in the direction of Thomas and Jimmy, who were doing a poor job of concealing their amusement, before hurrying over to the doorway; wishing, half-way there, that he had thought to pick up his napkin to use as a shield for his wet groin area in case he should meet anyone on the stairs.

As it was, he met someone the second he stepped out into the corridor.

But as that someone was a pyjama-clad Tom Branson who looked even more uncomfortable and embarrassed than himself, Alfred didn't particularly mind.

Tom stared silently at him, looking even more anxious at seeing that Alfred was on his way out of the hall; feeling like he could use all the support he could get at that present moment.

Smiling quickly at Tom in reassurance, and tiny bit of unsympathetic mocking (brought on by his own harrowing experiences the day before), Alfred made his way to the stairs feeling happy that he had at least caught a small part of the fun that was about to unfold.

Steeling himself, Tom moved to stand in the doorway to the servant's hall.

His appearance prompted the usual scraping of chairs as the staff scrambled to get to their feet, but today there was the additional distraction of his attire (pale grey pyjamas and a thin cream dressing-gown that was hanging open) plus the poorly concealed delight of Jimmy, and slightly sympathetic smirk of Thomas to deal with.

'How may we assist you, Mr Branson?' Said Carson, speaking with much more urgency and respect than he usually directed towards Tom; anticipating that his appearing in such a state of undress must mean that there was some pressing, Upstairs-based, catastrophe to relay.

Tom cleared his throat nervously, giving Jimmy a very brief look of murderous intent, before speaking.

'Mr Carson…I woke up this morning…' Said Branson, doing his best to speak normally, but his voice coming out noticeably higher than usual. 'And I decided…well…I think I find myself in need of a Valet.'

Thomas caught the minute sniggering noise that Jimmy made next to him and shot him a warning look. He realised, too late, that it would have in fact _helped_ Tom if he had let Jimmy inadvertently tip Carson off that something else was going on besides Tom suddenly deciding he was unable to put on his own clothes.

'Right…' Said Carson slowly, pausing for a moment in the deathly silence that had fallen over the servant's hall to mentally check that he had in fact understood Tom's request correctly. 'Well I'm sure Mr Barrow will be able to accommodate…'

'No, no.' Said Tom quickly, internally cursing Jimmy for having pre-empted Carson's inevitable response. 'I'd much rather have the benefit of your considerable years of experience.' He said to Mr Carson as his smile stretched into a thinly veiled grimace. 'No offence, of course, Mr Barrow.'

'None taken.' Said Thomas with an easy smile, beginning to find Jimmy's amusement infectious.

'But I'm…I'm…' Mr Carson stuttered, looking flustered as he struggled to puzzle out whether Tom had the right to make such a request, and (more importantly) whether or not _he_ had the right to refuse a direct request. It was one thing to refuse to tend to him when the idea was an abstract notion brought on by his arrival as a guest when newly returned from Ireland, but to refuse a direct order?…The issue was perplexing. Eventually he settled on the answer that would put an end to the awkward silence as speedily as possible. 'I would be _happy_…' Said Carson, lying through his teeth. '…to see to you today. And we will re-evaluate the situation tomorrow.'

'Thank you, Mr Carson. I will head back upstairs to wait for you, whenever you're ready.' Said Tom, stepping sideways a little, drawing his dressing gown around his pyjamas and gnawing on the inside of his cheek in agitation as he looked towards Jimmy, hoping for some sign of reprieve. None came.

With an internal sigh, Tom raised himself to his full height and gave a nod and a smile to the room as he prepared to leave.

'You…um….' He faltered a little, looking down at Mr Carson's plate. 'You shouldn't put your cutlery like that when you're eating, it's very uncouth.' He said quickly before hot-footing it out of the room, leaving a lingering stunned silence in his wake.

Jimmy risked a gleeful sideways glance at Thomas, who smiled back, before they both sank back down into their seats.

'But how will we know he sticks to it?' Thomas whispered to Jimmy once the normal level of conversational background noise had resumed.

'Oh…' Jimmy whispered back, nodding towards Carson who was still to disgruntled to resume his breakfast, staring down at his cutlery, then the cutlery of those immediately to the left and right of him trying to establish what precisely was so wrong with his manner of placement that an _ex-Chauffeur_ of all people would point it out. '…I think we'll know.' He said brightly, sipping at his juice with a mischievous grin.

Thomas shook his head a little, unable to suppress an answering grin as he held a moment of silence for Tom's sake.

It wasn't until the moment of dressing for dinner that evening that Tom was obliged to suffer the full horror of Jimmy's dare, but even the baby-steps that were prescribed for him throughout the day were enough to have him feel as though his occasionally temperamental heart was about to give up on him entirely.

He had limited himself to pulling a non-existent cat hair off of the shoulder of Carson's blazer (remarking that 'these things get everywhere, don't they?' in as patronising a manner as he dared) as Carson had set about the task of dressing him that morning, an experience beyond any awkwardness Tom had previously encountered, but under the terms of his agreement with Jimmy and the others he was obliged to find as many opportunities to 'correct' Mr Carson as he could throughout the day.

His next, and most daring, chance came while at breakfast. In full hearing of the entire complement of Crawleys (bar Mary and Cora), he loudly queried whether Mr Carson had had trouble sleeping the night before as his posture was 'looking simply terrible' that morning. The comment resulted in complete silence (not unreminiscent of that he had inspired in the servant's hall about an hour beforehand), some shifty and bemused glances exchanged between various Crawleys, and Mr Carson's eyes bulging out as though meaning to eject themselves from his head as he puffed up his chest in silent outrage; drawing himself up to stand straight and stiff as a board, and (somehow) a couple of inches taller than his usual height.

Tom exhaled slowly, calmingly, as he turned back to his bacon; seriously doubting his chances of surviving the day.

His next chance to dig himself an early grave came when he chanced upon Mr Carson going over inventory in the silver cupboard by the dining room.

'Oh…I think you put the fish knives back a little bit further from the left than they were before, Mr Carson.' He said, before speedily continuing on his way. He imagined, rather than saw, the resulting look of indignation.

And so it continued throughout the day.

By the time the dressing gong rang for dinner, Tom was something of a nervous wreck.

Mr Carson was not faring much better.

Tom sat on the edge of his bed, wringing his hands together and staring twitchily at the bedroom door in the hopes that Mr Carson would have decided to abandon his Valet duties in the face of his cheek throughout the day.

Sadly for him, the world would stop spinning on it's axis prior to Mr Carson shirking an accepted commitment.

'Mr Branson.' Said Carson, giving a curt nod of his head as he entered the room.

Tom looked up at him from his perch on the bed, fighting the suddenly overwhelming urge to fall at his feet and beg forgiveness (both for the events of the day so far, and for what he was about to do).

Somehow he managed to quell it, and remained meekly silent (if intensely awkward and disturbed) while Carson began the task of hanging clothes on him. Pulling fabric and fastening buttons with a little more vigor than strictly necessary, Carson repeatedly glanced at Tom as though daring him to find fault.

Internally grimacing at what the future held, Tom merely looked blankly back at him and gave the bare minimum of response to enable Carson to get the formal wear, finished with his relatively new tail coat, onto him.

'Thank you, Mr Carson.' He said shakily when the job was done. 'I will be down in a moment.'

He waited until Carson closed the door behind himself before sending up a silent prayer to God for the sake of his soul (and a few tips for the Devil for when Jimmy Kent should arrive in his place of business).

He then proceeded to quickly whip off the clothes that Carson had so carefully helped get him into and pulled out his black tuxedo from the wardrobe instead.

Tom took some _very_ deep breaths before entering the drawing room for pre-dinner drinks.

'Good God man, what are you wearing?' Said Robert abruptly upon seeing him, before visibly kicking himself for having spoken in such a manner with the ladies present.

Robert's words seemed to vocalise the intended message behind Carson's thunderous (albeit, very confused) facial expression.

'Oh, is this not right?' Said Tom, slapping his hands down by his sides and looking at his outfit as though for the first time.

On the other side of the room, Jimmy and Alfred temporarily neglected the drinks trays in order to listen in with baited breath.

'Mr Carson's the one who dressed me.' Said Tom with a nonchalant shrug.

Robert's forehead immediately creased itself into a dubious frown as he turned to Mr Carson (along with several other occupants of the room who were listening in). 'Mr Carson…?'

Carson's chest puffed out so wildly that he actually appeared to leave the floor for a moment, his lips pursed and jaw set in intense indignation. 'I assure you, My Lord, that I did NOT….'

Carson suddenly paused, visibly struggling to reign in his anger at the sight of some of the family (not to mention several distinguished guests) watching the display with rapt curiosity.

'Clearly…' Said Carson in a low and dangerous voice. '…there has been some _misunderstanding_, My Lord.' He glared at Tom in a manner that strongly suggested that he had just settled on a new place to store the cut-crystal wine-decanter, should Tom give him additional cause to desire to do so.

Tom received the unspoken warning loud and clear and declined to offer further comment.

'Well…let's leave this for the present, shall we?' Said Robert quickly, deciding that whatever the truth of the matter, it was unlikely to be fit for public airing.

Jimmy glanced towards Alfred and winked as Tom slumped onto the settee next to Cora, wrestling to get his breathing and heart rate under control.

It came as no surprise to Thomas, Alfred and Jimmy (the latter two being in the midst of regaling Thomas with impressions of Carson's reaction at the pre-dinner drinks) when Branson appeared at the doorway to the servant's hall just after midnight brandishing two large bottles of rum; that he had barely bothered to conceal in newspaper wrapping.

'You lot. Me. Garage. Now.' He ordered.

**NOTES - A huge thank you to 'sup-phyl' for the wonderful suggestion of having Branson dared to correct Carson on matters of etiquette (and for having him turn up for dinner in the wrong outfit!)**


	6. Saturday - A question of size?

**It Escalated – Chapter 6**

**Saturday – A question of size?**

**WARNINGS for language!**

'You, Mr Kent…' Said Tom with flourish as he pulled the garage door closed behind his three bemused companions. '…are a little fucker!'

Jimmy caught Thomas's eye and grinned devilishly as they followed Tom and Alfred to their usual spot on the floor.

'Oh I don't know about that…' Said Jimmy nonchalantly. '…I think it's about time you learned how to properly assert your authority, you know, as a member of the Upstairs lot…'

Thomas and Alfred did their best not to chuckle, they really did. But there really was nothing else for it.

'Oh you…' Tom grumbled, cracking a smile himself as he dropped down to sit cross legged on the floor. 'You are just…Ugh!' He un-stoppered one of the whiskey bottles, handing the other over to Thomas as he joined him on the floor, and took a long healthy swig.

'I did bring some…' Alfred began, holding out the four glasses, gripped two to a hand in his long fingers.

'I think we're passed 'glasses' Alfred.' Said Thomas, opening up the second bottle and offering it to him as he sat down.

Alfred indicated his full hands and went to put them down before taking the bottle, but Thomas quickly rose up onto his knees and jovially instructed him to 'open wide' before proceeding to pour a large measure of whiskey down Alfred's throat.

Alfred spluttered a little, but managed to catch all but one tiny errant dribble. 'Steady on!' He exclaimed, pausing for a throaty cough. 'I'll not be rushing upstairs to change my trousers _again_ today!'

'You what…?' Said Branson.

'He was watching for you so eagerly this morning that he dumped his juice in his lap.' Said Jimmy brightly, settling into the space between Thomas and Alfred as Thomas walked backwards on his knees, clutching the whiskey bottle. 'Now me.' Jimmy instructed Thomas, indicating the bottle and inclining his head.

'Er…I think you can hold it yourself.' Said Thomas, holding the bottle out to him.

Thomas could have sworn he saw disappointment (and a little hurt) cross Jimmy's expression, but Jimmy quickly covered it up with a sarcastic drawl.

'So I see Mr Carson isn't the only one that plays favorites…' He said, snatching the bottle.

Thomas snorted with laughter. 'Jimmy, if I were you…' Said Thomas, sparing a glance for Tom who had thrown himself backwards to lie on the floor, bottle still in hand. '…I wouldn't trust none of us to pour you a measure right now.'

In perfect illustration of Thomas's point, Tom groaned loudly from his position on the floor.

'Oh GOD!' He poured himself a sloppy swallow of drink while still on his back, just as much going over his collar as in his mouth. 'MR CARSON!'

Alfred's shoulders shook with laughter as he retrieved the other bottle from Jimmy's grip. 'When you think about it…' He said, taking a more refined sip. '…our dare weren't all that bad.'

'Speak for your bloody self!' Said Thomas, it'll be years before I can re-cultivate my suave and authoritative standing.'

The other three laughed a little too vigorously at that for comfort.

Thomas glared daggers at them, taking a very deep swig of whiskey after prying the firmly clutched bottle out of Tom's hand as Alfred passed the other back to Jimmy.

'So, Jimmy…' Said Thomas, taking a second swig for good measure. 'Would you say justice has been served?'

'Oh, I should say so.' Said Jimmy, with a mischievous raise of his eyebrows. 'Strange that no one in the servant's hall wanted an encore…' He continued, doing his best to keep the wince off his face as another swallow of whiskey burned it's way down his throat.

'Goddamn you Thomas and your goddamn sense of _justice_.' Wailed Tom miserably from the floor.

'Oh buck up!' Said Thomas, leaning sideways to pull Tom back up into a sitting position by his arm.

Tom slumped forwards over his knees, grabbing the bottle back off Thomas and clutching it to his side for support. 'Carson's going to _kill_ me!' He paused just long enough to drink. 'And there's no way Lord Grantham's going to just let this one go. He was staring at me with that 'we need to have a talk' face all the way through the evening.'

'Ugh. I hate that look.' Said Thomas with a slightly sympathetic, but still highly amused, grimace.

'Well I trust you all learned a valuable lesson.' Said Jimmy with a haughty toss of his head.

'Yes!' Said Tom with gusto. 'That you're an evil little FUCKER when given half the chance!'

Jimmy tittered merrily.

'Careful there.' Said Thomas shooting Jimmy a cautionary glance, reaching for the bottle off of Alfred (reasoning that wild horses couldn't get the other away from Tom at that particular moment. 'My sense of justice will only stretch so far…'

Jimmy visibly deflated and shunted himself back a few inches away from the circle.

'He's only bloody teasing.' Said Alfred, slapping Jimmy on the back with a bit more force than he would have done so without a fair quantity of whiskey in him. 'You know _he_ wouldn't do a thing to harm you.'

Both Thomas and Jimmy fixed Alfred with a dark look that caused him to perform a similar move to Jimmy.

'Mmmm…' Said Branson, missing the exchange entirely in his quest to drown his trauma. 'But _me_ on the other hand…'

'Give over.' Thomas grinned, flicking a final glance of warning towards Alfred. 'You're just as soft as the rest of us when it comes to dealing with _silly children_.'

'Oh fuck you!' Said Jimmy indignantly, pulling himself upright to sit on his heels.

Alfred's eyes widened at the prospect of trouble, but Thomas simply smiled sweetly. 'That's 'Fuck you, _Mr Barrow_' to you Jimmy.' He said, taking another leisurely swallow of whiskey before pressing the bottle into Jimmy's chest.

Jimmy scowled, but consented to wrap his hand around it as he shunted his legs to sit back down on his rear.

'So, is this then end of our little game then?' Said Alfred hurriedly to lift the deathly silence that had fallen.

'It better not be!' Tom piped up, finally relinquishing control of his bottle to pass it to Alfred. 'I need something to take my mind off what happened today.'

'Technically, yesterday.' Said Thomas, whipping out his pocket watch with the grace that only a partially drunk man can muster. In response to Branson's unamused expression he quickly continued. 'I'll start then…' He cleared his throat to announce grandly. '…Have you ever worn ladies clothing?'

'No!' Chorused Alfred and Jimmy.

'Oh…' Said Branson, reaching quickly to take the bottle back from Alfred.

Thomas blinked in surprise, exchanging an amused look with Jimmy as the latter held out the other bottle to him.

'Oh _do_ tell.' Said Thomas, almost missing his mouth as he raised the bottle to his lips.

'Ugh…' Said Branson, raising a hand to rub awkwardly at his forehead. 'There was this one girl, back in Ireland…'

'Gosh, say no more!' Alfred cut in with a grimace.

'No, no…' Thomas quickly countered. 'DO say more.'

Tom moaned, running his hand clumsily across his entire face, speaking through his fingers. 'Well she said she wouldn't take them off unless _I_ put them on you see…'

'Them?' Said Thomas incredulously. 'Are we talking ladies undergarments, Mr Branson?'

'Fraid so…' Said Tom, his words muffled by his hand.

'Oh. My. Word…' Whispered Jimmy, shortly before he and the other two collapsed into giggles.

'Well I…' Thomas snorted in between convulsions of laughter. 'I've done some strange things in my time to get some, but that just about tops it!'

Jimmy was suddenly alert. 'What things?' He demanded, before shrinking back, blushing, looking around at Tom and Alfred as though to blame them for his outburst.

'Eh! It's not your turn to ask a question!' Thomas said jovially for the benefit of the other two, while quirking his eyebrow privately at Jimmy.

'Alfred…' Said Tom, leaning forward eagerly (half curiosity, half desperation to get the topic off of himself). '…would you say it's Jimmy's turn to ask a question?'

'I'd say it might be…' Said Alfred, daring to shoot a challenging whisky-lubricated look at Thomas.

Thomas smiled, getting on for being highly tipsy himself and internally suddenly very curious to gauge Jimmy's response to his particular story.

'Well let's just say…apparently I look good in riding gear…' He said, taking a quick sip of whiskey to hide his nostalgic grin.

Jimmy's eyes flew open impossibly wide, although Thomas couldn't quite chalk it up as a personal victory given that Alfred's did exactly the same.

'Riding gear?' Said Tom, quirking his head towards Thomas in intense interest. 'Who the hell was _she_?'

Thomas found himself feeling suddenly sober as both Jimmy and Alfred directed their gaze awkwardly to the floor, visibly wincing.

'It weren't a 'she'.' Said Thomas quietly, also directing his gaze to the floor as he drew his smokes out of his pocket, deciding the moment was nigh for a cigarette on the likely chance that he would soon be making his way back to the house alone.

'Weren't a…' Tom mouthed.

A spark of realisation crossed his expression as his jaw momentarily dropped. 'Oh…' He said. '…well I suppose…I suppose it…um…WAIT!' He suddenly exclaimed. 'Is THAT why…?' He indicated between Jimmy and Thomas, looking over at Alfred.

Alfred gave a weary shrug and nodded.

'So THAT'S why you two are so strange around each other…something's happened between you?' Tom said, astonished, dropping the bottle in his moment of clarity.

'No it bloody has not!' Jimmy riled indignantly, jerking forward to grab the bottle off the floor before purposefully chugging an obscenely large measure in a statement of masculinity.

Thomas was momentarily too distracted by a sense of powerful relief at Tom's priorities in terms of his reaction to his news to step in.

'THAT'S why!' Tom exclaimed triumphantly, as though Jimmy hadn't spoken. 'God that's been puzzling me ever since the pond!'

Thomas gave a nervous laugh, torn between lunging over to hug (and quite possibly kiss) Tom or lighting his cigarette; on balance of consideration, he chose the latter.

'It's not!' Shouted Jimmy, raising the bottle for another swig.

'Easy there!' Exclaimed Alfred, quickly taking it off him. He turned to Tom to speedily explain that _Jimmy _was _of course_ not that way inclined and _that_ was where the awkwardness came from.

Alfred cocked his head at Jimmy, silently pleading with him to allow the situation to diffuse.

Mercifully Jimmy was far too occupied in glaring darkly back at Alfred to notice the understanding eye roll that Tom shot in Thomas's direction.

Thomas smiled wryly back at Tom.

'Thomas…' Said Tom, realising the desperate need for a segue. '…if you're going to risk setting fire to the garage, you could at least offer me one of those…'

Thomas immediately handed the cigarette packet over to him, looking at him in thinly veiled wonder.

'So, Alfred.' Tom continued, as though Jimmy weren't still looking murderously at him. 'Your turn to come up with a question, I think.'

'Right!' Alfred quickly agreed.

Thomas passed his whiskey bottle to Tom, mouthing a silent 'thank you' to him, which Tom dismissed warmly with a smile.

Alfred franticly wracked his brains for a neutral topic, deliberately swiveling onto his side to deter Jimmy in his efforts to get the other bottle back off him; noting that Jimmy's movements had become distinctly clumsy.

'What's the nicest compliment you have ever been paid!' He said, internally congratulating himself on his quick thinking in selecting a topic, albeit boring, that couldn't possibly cause further strife.

He hadn't banked on Thomas's lingering urge to torture Jimmy.

'My sizeable manhood.' Said Thomas, holding up his hands in a highly hyperbolic gesture that said just as much about his level of alcohol consumption as it did about his ego.

Jimmy's nostrils flared as he made another attempt to wrest the whiskey bottle from Alfred. Under the circumstances, Alfred consented to relinquish his hold with a defeated sigh.

'Oi!' Exclaimed Branson. 'That's what _I _was going to say!'

'Course it was.' Said Thomas with a smirk, reaching for Tom's bottle.

'Oh no…' Said Tom, leaning shakily sideways to hold it out of Thomas's reach. 'How big?' He queried.

Thomas snorted and made another abortive grab for the bottle. 'Larger than you I'd wager, you bastard!' He said, falling sideways to land heavily on the floor, legs still crossed, as Tom speedily shifted his arm around to protect his hold on the bottle.

'Well those are fighting words!' Branson exclaimed, laughing at Thomas sprawled out on the ground in front of him as both Jimmy and Alfred stared on in disbelief. 'How much do you want to wager?'

'Nothing…' Drawled Thomas, looking up at him from the floor, uncrossing his legs and resting his heels on the floor, shifting his hips a little to take full advantage of the tightness of his trousers in illustrating the point. '…because I don't believe in taking money from fools!'

'Oh it's like that is it!' Said Tom, thrusting the bottle towards a bewildered Alfred to free up his hands. 'We'll have to see about that!' He shifted round to lie besides Thomas on the floor.

'Christ! How drunk_ are _you?' Exclaimed Jimmy, his righteous indignation spoiled by the highly disturbed furrows across his brow and the slight hiccup that followed his words. 'You can't just…Oh!' He quickly turned his back as both Thomas and Tom began to unbutton their trousers, their cigarettes clasped between their teeth.

Alfred stared intently down at the bottle in his hands before speedily deciding that Jimmy's idea was better. He spun around as well, shifting a little to sit closer to Jimmy, fighting the urge to place a reassuring arm around Jimmy's shoulders at the look of deep distress on his face.

'Well here goes…' Said Thomas, causing both Alfred and Jimmy to wince.

There was a brief moment of silence before Tom's outraged 'You son of a bitch!' exclamation abruptly settled the issue for all concerned.

Alfred and Jimmy exchanged a trumatised glance before simultaneously raising their respective bottles to their mouths.

Alfred continued to watch Jimmy as the latter drew out his swallow of whiskey for several seconds after he had concluded his own.

'Jimmy, are you alright?' He whispered.

Jimmy turned slightly to look at him, suddenly a pained child rather than petulant man.

Alfred opened his mouth to continue but…

'You can turn round now!' Thomas announced smugly.

Alfred craned his head to find Thomas still lying on the floor, trousers unbuttoned but bodily parts secreted back safely in his underwear, while Tom sat sulkily hunched beside him.

'Well that was…um…strange.' Alfred offered as he swiveled his body back around to face them.

Jimmy stayed staring in the other direction.

'Jimmy?' Said Thomas, raising himself up onto his elbows. 'Jimmy, we really are decent. You can turn around.'

Thomas raised himself up completely into a sitting position at the sight of Jimmy's shoulders shuddering miserably.

'Jimmy…?' Thomas glanced over to Alfred, whose answering look carried a similar level of concern to his own. 'Are you…?' Thomas looked back to Tom, who looked similarly confused and concerned.

'Jimmy…?' Thomas discarded his cigarette and shifted to sit next to him, catching a tiny glimpse of his red-faced distress before Jimmy rapidly concealed his face in his arms. 'What's wrong?' He said gently, reflexively raising an arm to cup his shoulders and draw him closer; panicking momentarily at Jimmy's equally reflexive tensing, but relaxing when it became apparent Jimmy didn't intend to throw him off.

'What's wrong?' Thomas whispered, leaning his head close.

Jimmy sniffed and raised his head, his eyes were dry but the rest of his face contained more than enough misery to compensate. 'I just…' Jimmy choked out. 'I just don't see how you can just…be like that.' Jimmy's shoulders shuddered again and he screwed up his face in anger at his inability to mask his upset.

Thomas squeezed his shoulders tighter. 'Like what, Jimmy? You mean…'

'Taking your clothes off all the bloody time, that's what I mean.' Jimmy said abruptly.

'What does it matter…?' Branson spoke out from behind them. 'We're all blokes here, aren't we? I mean, granted, it might not be something you want to see…so just don't look.' Branson looked over at Alfred who gave a small nod of agreement.

'That's not the point!' Shouted Jimmy, in more of a wail than a harsh exclamation.

'Then what _is_ the point?' Said Thomas softly. In response to Jimmy's sullen silence he continued. 'Why do you have such a problem with…well, people taking their clothes off?'

'I don't have a problem with that.' Jimmy barked back at him. 'I just don't want to do it, that's all.'

Thomas frowned, glancing back at Tom and Alfred to see if there was something they had picked up on that he'd missed; the answering looks were blank.

'Jimmy…' Thomas said, leaning back into him. 'I know you weren't happy about that day by the pond, but no one's saying you have to take anything off now, are they?'

'I know!' Shouted Jimmy, sounding highly exasperated, though to what end Thomas had no idea.

Thomas's frown deepened. 'Do you…um…_want_ to compare, is that it? Are you angry no one asked you?'

'No!' Jimmy grunted, burying his head again.

Thomas waited, completely at a loss as to how to proceed, until Jimmy resurfaced.

'I just…' Said Jimmy with a deep exhale as he shrugged out of Thomas's arm and turned around to face back at the others. Thomas turned as well, his other arm ready to resume the soothing gesture should the need arise. 'I wish that, if I wanted to, I wouldn't mind doing it...if that makes any sense.'

'I suppose that does…sort of…make sense.' Said Alfred slowly.

'But why _do_ you mind?' Said Thomas.

'I just don't like it. That's all.' Said Jimmy with a highly unconvincing shrug of dismissal.

From across the way, Tom gave an audible sigh. 'What happened?'

Thomas glanced angrily at Tom for his abrupt question, anticipating it's bluntness would cow Jimmy from opening up further, but quickly looked back in surprise as Jimmy began to answer.

'I never…liked it that much anyway.' He said with a shudder. 'People always seem to want to stare at me…' Thomas grimaced, catching the pointed look that Alfred shot in his direction. '…but I suppose…there was this one time when we were at school and…'

The others waited silently as Jimmy wrung his hands together in agitation before continuing.

'…these boys, they didn't like me, not at all, and one day they…stripped me from the waist down and laughed and I…I had to beg to get my clothes back.'

Tom and Alfred glanced heavenwards, while Thomas glanced to the floor, grimacing in second hand humiliation at the story.

'But anyway…' Jimmy shook his shoulder purposefully to dispel the memory. '…it just bothers me. And I wish it didn't…Because it seems like you can all have fun…because you don't care.' He sniffed, eyeing the bottle he still held in his hand, but decided against taking another drink and instead set it down on the floor.

'I'm sorry that happened to you.' Said Thomas quietly.

Jimmy snorted dismissively.

'Oh none of that!' Said Thomas, raising his arm up around Jimmy's shoulders again.

Jimmy hesitate a moment, trying and failing to rebuild his hard exterior, before lowering his head onto Thomas's shoulder.

'Right…well…' Tom said, clearing his throat in an effort to ease the unhappy mood that had descended. 'We will just have to think of a way to fix this, won't we Jimmy?'

The answering snort didn't carry the quite the same venom as before.

Undeterred Tom continued. 'I propose we save the rest of these…' He said indicating the partially emptied whiskey bottles. '…and reconvene here tomorrow night. I think _I_ have an idea.'

'I think _I_ might have a prior engagement.' Jimmy retorted, but there was the tiniest hint of a grin underneath his sullen expression.

Thomas decided that it was probably about time for him to do his trousers up.


	7. Sunday - Getting them off

**It Escalated – Chapter 7**

**Sunday – Getting them off**

'I still think it's a bad idea.' Grumbled Thomas as he followed Tom towards the servant's hall, the latter having deliberately been the last to remain at the after-dinner drinks; partly to avoid being caught alone in the corridor by Lord Grantham (who had been making a cavalier effort to 'have a quiet word' all day), but largely to allow him to escape to the servant's hall as soon as the remnants of the drinks service were cleared away.

Thomas had offered to take over the late drinks shift from Carson earlier that day in favor to Tom, and mercifully (possibly due to the lingering trauma of having his knowledge of social etiquette questioned by an ex-Chauffeur) Carson had willingly acquiesced.

'No, it's perfect!' Tom insisted, pulling out the deck of cards in his pocket and brandishing them high above his head to show Thomas who walked behind him. Thomas absently wondered precisely why Tom felt the need to remind him what a deck of cards looked like, then he recalled the now completely empty wine decanter upstairs. 'He's good at cards.' Tom continued. 'So he won't feel threatened.'

'He _cheats_ at cards.' Thomas reminded him with a frown. 'Although I think we may have got him out of that habit…' He trailed off.

'Don't you see?' Tom said in a hushed whisper, swinging around at the bottom of the staircase to hold Thomas on the steps a moment longer. 'He _wants _to get his clothes off. He said so yesterday. And this…' Tom waved the cards again. '…is the perfect way for him to do it.'

'I think you might be remembering that conversation wrong...' Said Thomas with a very dubious expression.

'Well I think _you_ weren't listening!' Retorted Tom, leaning in closer as two maids scuttled past them. 'He needs to just do it. It'll get him over attaching such importance to what happened and it'll loosen him up a bit. He _needs_ to relax.'

Thomas gave a reflexive nod of agreement. 'I don't deny he could stand to relax…But I fail to see how pressurising him into the one thing he doesn't want to do is going to bloody help!' Thomas hissed desperately, having spotted Alfred noticing them from the open doorway of the servant's hall.

'It's not pressure, is it?' Said Branson quickly. 'You're not going to make him, neither am I…not if he doesn't want to…but this game is perfect for him; it gives him an excuse to do it if he wants to. He'd never do it off his own back…but if he can blame something else…'

'Alfred! Jimmy!' Said Thomas loudly in greeting as the two of them made their way out of the servant's hall. He shot a warning look at Tom.

Tom gave him a private grin and a wink before turning to greet the others.

'Shall we…' He said with a grand sweep of his hand towards the back door.

It wasn't long before the four of them were seated in their usual spot on the floor; this time with Tom and Jimmy with their backs towards the car, Alfred and Thomas with their backs to the wall, all sitting on their jackets as per usual in a largely useless attempt to keep the dust of the floor off their trousers.

The drinking culture that evening was decidedly more refined. After sending Alfred back to the house to fetch glasses (the law of sod dictating that glasses would be seen as essential only upon the occasion Alfred deliberately decided _not_ to bring them) the four of them sipped their first measures of alcohol in a far more restrained manner than the previous evening, having no pressing trauma (save lingering hangovers) to try to expunge from the day.

'So what do you all think?' Said Tom, having explained his idea to them. 'Well, apart from Thomas here…I know what he thinks.'

Thomas rolled his eyes and leaned back, resting on his arms, to watch the scene of inevitable indignation and objection unfold.

Suprisingly, it wasn't Jimmy that openly objected (although his face wore a highly disdainful and wary look of discomfort) but Alfred.

'Why would we want to play that?' Said Alfred, shaking his head as though Tom had run mad. 'What's the point?'

'Fun is the point, Alfred.' Said Tom, undeterred.

'Well…I see why it'd be 'fun' for Mr Barrow here, but not for…'

'Oi!' Thomas interjected. 'Sorry to disappoint you Alfred, but you're not exactly the stuff of midnight fantasies.'

Alfred turned towards him, mouth open to retort, but Tom jumped in speedily before he could do so.

'I absolutely guarantee fun!' He asserted. 'Come on…just give it a try? You can stop whenever you want.'

Thomas found the silent conversation that went on between Alfred and Jimmy, over one long stare, rather endearing. The outcome seemed to be a tentative agreement to 'give it a go'.

'Brilliant!' Said Tom enthusiastically, he shot a pointed look at Jimmy (who wasn't reacting with nearly as much upset as Thomas had expected, and actually seemed perfectly content with the situation) before turning his smug gaze back to Thomas. Thomas responded with a small dubious shake of his head.

Shuffling the cards with all the grace of a stable hand, Tom proceeded to deal each of them five cards.

'It's simple enough…' He explained. 'You get your cards as usual, only instead of betting on the first round you just decide if you want to stay in the game or not. If you stay in, then you can request however many cards you want to change. After that, you decide if you still want to stay in. Then there's the showdown and the looser loses some clothes.'

'What happens if we don't decide to stay in for a hand?' Said Jimmy, already in the process of examining his cards. 'You know, if we fold?'

'Nothing.' Said Tom.

'In which case…fold!' Jimmy announced, sliding his cards forward and away from him.

At that, Thomas couldn't resist flicking an 'I told you so' look in Tom's direction; but the answering look was surprisingly cheeky and self-assured.

Alfred, Thomas and Tom reached to pick up their cards.

All three instantly winced.

They looked up at each other, then burst out laughing.

'Well these are bollocks!' Laughed Tom.

'I wouldn't even go as far as that.' Said Alfred.

'These are God-awful…' Said Thomas with a grin, before bringing the cards into his chest and darting his eyes about the room in a manner reminiscent of a ventriloquist dummy. '…or are they?'

Tom and Alfred sniggered, their expressions shifting noticeably into 'game mode' as Thomas asked the important question. 'So…who's in?'

Due to sheer stubbornness in their desire to avoid conceding to one another (even in the face of the least promising opening cards they had ever seen), all three of them clung on until the end of the hand. With no attempt at guile, and merely trying to profit from sheer dumb luck, all three of them changed most of the cards in their hands when given the opportunity; doing their best to conceal their reactions a little better this time.

They didn't do too good a job of concealing their feelings, merely managing to contort their expressions in strange and wonderful ways. Jimmy, as an outside observer, sat up on his heels with his hands in his lap, eagerly following the amusing spectacle.

'Seriously, no one wants to fold?' Said Branson, eyebrows raised in both hope and jest.

'Nope.' Said Thomas.

'All good here.' Said Alfred.

For a moment Tom considered folding himself, but he just couldn't stomach the thought of dropping out of the first hand. 'Let's see them then!' He said, laying down his cards.

'Well Gentlemen…' Said Thomas with lashings of false modesty. '…I do believe this one's mine!'

'What the hell were you thinking, calling with a pair of threes!?' Said Tom incredulously to Alfred.

'As opposed to your masterful 'nine high'?' Alfred bit back.

'Come on…' Said Thomas, sweeping his eyes purposefully downwards. 'We haven't got all night.'

Tom shot him a wry look and extended his feet out to undo his shoe-laces. 'Are we counting shoes as one item or two?'

'Well we don't really want to be here all night do we?' Said Alfred briskly, depositing his shoes in the center of the circle.

'Oh Alfred…' Said Thomas breathily, looking down at Alfred's big toe poking it's way through a threadbare sock. '…I don't know how I shall possibly contain myself!'

'Give over!' Alfred grinned, extending his foot to give a light kick to Thomas's flank.

Thomas chuckled merrily, and was pleased to note Jimmy doing the same.

'Well here we go…' Said Jimmy, hitching up his sleeves to deal out the next hand (Thomas wasn't sure if Jimmy had done so in order to prove he wasn't going to cheat, or simply for ease of movement).

Thomas ducked out immediately at the sight of his cards; even with a quarter of the deck shoved up his own sleeve it would have been hard to make anything of them.

He was intensely interested to note that Jimmy, however, did not.

As the three players exchanged their cards with the deck, Thomas (as a non-player) was free to give his entire attention to Jimmy's reaction as he beheld his two replacement cards. The deep wrinkles that appeared across Jimmy's nose as he looked at his cards were impossible to miss. It came as no surprise to Thomas when Jimmy immediately announced his intention to fold.

As Alfred and Tom battled it out in the showdown, Thomas leaned in to whisper to Jimmy.

'You know you've got a _terrible_ poker face!'

Rather than offering the expected angry retort or denial, Jimmy simply laughed. They held each other's gaze for a moment before the less than pleasant aroma of uncovered feet pervaded the room as Alfred's socks joined his shoes on the pile in the center.

'When we get back upstairs…' Said Thomas, gathering up the cards to shuffle. '…I'm lending you some foot powder.'

That earned him another jab in the side from Alfred's toe.

The next hand found all four of them still in at the point of 'show down', glancing nervously round at one another despite their being no real stakes at play (or at least not ones with financial implications), still relatively unsure of each other's prowess at this particular poker game; consequently wishing to simultaneously play things safe while making wildly inadvisable moves in an effort to gauge the style of the others.

Thomas had to admit that his thoughts and attention were on Jimmy rather than the cards when everyone showed their hand.

But his reaction didn't give any cause for alarm.

Jimmy simply gave an exaggerated humph at his two pair failing to beat Tom's full house and immediately pulled off his shoes without bothering to undo the laces.

Thomas, knowing without looking but having to look all the same, conceded that his three of a kind had been bested and went to do the same.

'Does this count?' Said Alfred, pulling at the sleeve of the jacket he was sitting on.

'Hmmm…I think not.' Said Tom with a sly smile.

'Fine.' Grumbled Alfred, working his waistcoat off and setting atop of Jimmy's shoes, wishing immediately that he had instead chosen to pull off his stiff shirt-front first as it now flapped about in a most ungainly manner without the waistcoat to keep it in check.

He didn't have much time to think about the shirt-front however, as he was distracted by Thomas who suddenly made a lunge for him when he sat down.

'See!' Said Thomas. Waving his removed shoe a few inches from Alfred's nose. 'That's how feet are supposed to smell!'

Alfred snorted and would have hunched forwards in laughter had he not been quite so keen to keep his distance from Thomas's shoe.

'I hope you're not planning on making him sniff anything else you take off!' Laughed Tom as Alfred batted Thomas's hand out of his face. 'Anyway, I reckon we should all get rid of these to avoid future confusion…' He said, indicating the jackets they were sitting on. With gentle shrugs of agreement, the others all followed his lead and deposited them in the center.

Alfred gave the cards only the most cursory of shuffles before dealing again, mentally reminding himself to fold no matter what cards happened to come into his hand given his recent run of poor luck.

At the sight of the hand that was one card off a royal flush, Alfred's earlier resolve went out the window.

By some miracle when it came down to himself and Jimmy in the final round Alfred was able to procure the Jack he needed to complete his set. And somehow, even more remarkably, Jimmy didn't seem to twig what he had been looking for; unlike Tom and Thomas who folded soon after.

Jimmy's socks joined the pile and the game continued.

For the next hands, Thomas noted Jimmy consistently folding at the first round while he and Tom managed to lose their waistcoats and shirt-fronts (while Thomas also lost his socks), and Alfred his shirt-front and overshirt, in a truly spectacular display of bad technique and poor judgment.

'Getting a bit cold there Alfred?' Grinned Thomas, flicking his eyes over Alfred's thin and pale arms as he leaned over with the whiskey bottle to top up the empty glass at his side.

'Oh, I'll have you cold after this!' Said Alfred, brandishing the cards in his hand with a challenging smirk.

'Is that so…?' Drawled Thomas, slopping a large measure of whiskey into both Tom and Jimmy's glasses before returning to fill his own.

Thomas then picked up his own cards from the floor and swore internally. Even Tom's earlier 'nine high' looked good in comparison. But a powerful pride, and desperate plea to lady luck, kept Thomas in the running even after Tom and (as usual) Jimmy had folded.

He lost.

Resisting the urge to poke his tongue out at Alfred's smug satisfaction, reasoning that such behavior would be unseemly for an Under Butler even under present circumstances, Thomas yanked down his braces and began to work the buttons of his overshirt open.

He could have sworn he heard the sound of glass rattling on concrete to his right, suggesting that Jimmy had momentarily lost his grip on his drink, but decided against turning towards Jimmy to confirm what had caused the loss of co-ordination.

Although a tiny little voice at the back of his head counseled him to take his sweet time in getting his buttons open to reveal the soft cotton undershirt and bare arms beneath just in case his suspicions were correct.

Finally pulling the shirt off of his shoulders with a flourish, Thomas crumpled it on top of the rapidly increasing pile of clothes (reasoning that it was one of the few items he was not obliged to re-wear tomorrow, and therefore a little reckless abandon could be indulged in).

He realised he had perhaps been a little overzealous in his desire to remove the shirt in an alluring manner at the sight of both Alfred and Tom staring at him looking highly confused and slightly traumatised. Jimmy remained just out of his line of sight.

'I'm starting to suspect…' Said Tom as he picked up the deck of cards to deal again when his turn rolled around. '…that none of us are all that good at poker.'

'Oh no…I'm just biding my time…' Laughed Thomas, running a hand up his bare forearm where the hairs had begun to stand on end in the chilled evening air (a noticeable chill even with the addition of several units of alcohol to his system).

Tom chuckled in response, directing his gaze over to Alfred who was in an identical state of undress to Thomas. 'Are you _really_ not cold Alfred?'

Alfred shrugged and picked up the cards in front of him. 'I reckon I got used enough to the cold of the coast…this seems like a warm night to me.'

'Warm night my arse!' Exclaimed Thomas, snatching up his own cards.

'Well we'll just have to wait to see about that…won't we?' Tom winked at him.

'Oh _anything_ for you Mr Branson!' Said Thomas sarcastically, taking a deep swig of whiskey at the sight of two (very low) pairs of cards as he wrestled with their chances of winning.

'You alright over there Jimmy?' Said Tom brightly.

Jimmy jumped a little as though having been in a deep reverie, staring at something out of the corner of his eye. 'Quite alright, thank you.' He responded softly.

Tom held out his hand to accept Jimmy's cards back, anticipating the inevitable 'fold'.

'No, no…' Said Jimmy. 'I'm in.'

Tom gave a nod and an approving twist of his features before turning back to the circle to ask if the others intended to stay in.

Thomas decided he ought to out of solidarity with Jimmy, Alfred decided he ought to stay in with his four of a kind, Tom decided his pair of aces simply _had_ to be worth something.

Tom and Thomas were mildly surprised at Alfred's coup, especially after Alfred's decision to change his fifth card in the second round to divert them. But Jimmy was genuinely taken aback that his full house had been bested.

Jimmy stared down at Alfred's cards for a moment in disbelief while Alfred, to Thomas's intense gratitude, restrained himself from gloating or teasing.

'Um…I…' Jimmy began as he sat back on his heels, flinching away from the sight of Tom depositing his overshirt in the center of the circle with a grunt.

'I'd lose the stiff shirt-front first if I were you…' Said Thomas next to him, drawing Jimmy's gaze the other way. 'I think all of us would agree…' Thomas nonchalantly pulled the hem of his undershirt out from his trouser waistband and pulled it up and over his head in one smooth movement. '…that any excuse to get them off is a good one!'

'Right…' Said Jimmy quickly, his hands fumbling under his waistcoat to allow him to extract the shirt-front without bending it. A few moments later he had his tie and collar undone to allow him to pull the shirt-front away from his chest entirely, leaving a strange gaping gap between his waistcoat and overshirt, but finding leaning forwards infinitely more comfortable than before as he leaned in to add it to the clothes pile.

Instead of returning to his exact sitting position, Jimmy came back to rest a little closer to Thomas, having noted absently that the scent and warmth radiating from Thomas's uncovered torso was rather pleasant.

'You're nearly in trouble there, Mr Barrow.' Teased Alfred, nodding towards Thomas's naked chest. 'That's only two more items to go by my count.' He said, lowering his eyes to Thomas's trousers and the slither of the waistband of his underwear that was visible.

'You're forgetting my frilly garter belt…' Said Thomas with a chuckle. Alfred's face quickly cracked up in merriment to join in with him.

'You what!?' Said Tom incredulously.

'I _think_ he's joking.' Said Jimmy with a patronising smile.

'Well I don't know what sort of things his lot get up to do I?' Said Tom.

'I can assure you, Mr Branson, I will leave the fun of running around in ladies underwear solely to you.' Thomas laughed.

'Shut up you sod!' Grunted Tom, his face merry but definitely obtaining a hint of rouge as he accepted the new set of cards that Jimmy dealt.

'What do you reckon you two…' Said Thomas to Alfred and Jimmy. '…think we'll be getting a peak of the famous ladies knickers when Tom here gets his trousers off tonight?'

'Oi!' Said Tom haughtily. 'I'll have you lot know that I…Oh…'

'What?' Said Thomas eagerly as Tom trailed off.

Tom looked down at himself then up at Thomas with a grimace.

Thomas's eyes widened. 'You're not wearing any underpants are you?'

'I forgot that I might need them…' Said Tom with a wry twist of his mouth.

'Isn't that uncomfortable?' Said Jimmy, staring fixedly down at Tom's trousers.

'Well I have to come up with some way of making the family dinners less boring, don't I?' Tom responded with a shrug and a grin, drawing a very amused giggle from Jimmy.

Thomas was so busy laughing at Tom's declaration that his own precarious state of undress largely slipped from his mind; that is, until the final showdown when it became apparent that the set of two pairs in his hand (although, admittedly higher than the previous ones) had once again been bested.

Jimmy and Tom alike had also been bested by Alfred, who was certainly enjoying an enviable run of luck on the card front after his earlier poor start.

Tom's undershirt joined the clothes pile without incident, and he made a highly comical facial expression while running his fingers around the waistband of his trousers afterwards.

For a moment both Jimmy and Thomas remained motionless; Jimmy's fingers lingering at the buttons of his waistcoat tentatively while the realisation of what he himself had to do suddenly hit Thomas.

Thomas undid the top two buttons of his trousers before glancing at Jimmy, noticing his hesitation. 'After you Mr Kent.' He said.

Visibly steeling himself, his fingers moving with none of their usual assurance and grace, Jimmy got his waist coat off and placed it gently down on the floor in front of him.

'Come on Thomas…' Drawled Tom.

'Wouldn't tease if I were you…' Said Thomas, leaning back to retrieve the whiskey bottle propped behind him against the wall. He poured a generous measure into his glass before proceeding to sloppily neck a large quantity directly from the bottle. '…remember what's going to happen to you the next time you lose!' Thomas set the bottle down beside him and got to his feet. 'Now try not to get too excited you lot.' He said as he finished undoing his buttons and gave the waistband a brief push downwards. His trousers made it down to his lower thighs before catching on the gather of his long-johns at his knees. Thomas threw a pose, drawing a laugh from the others, before pushing the waistband down more insistently to drop his trousers from his knees to the floor.

He held his arms out to his sides and gave a slight bow at the amused clapping from Tom and Alfred.

Jimmy, he noticed, had retrieved the bottle he had set down on the floor and was taking a swig directly from the neck of the bottle himself; his tongue playing a little over the lip of the neck as he did so.

Thomas took a moment to give himself a not-so-surreptitious adjust under his long-johns (having been needing to do so for the past several hours) before sitting back down, kicking his trousers off of his ankles into the circle.

'God!' He exclaimed at the feel of the floor beneath the thin layer of his underwear. 'It's a bit cold on the old cheeks down here!'

The others fell about laughing as Jimmy handed the deck of cards to Thomas.

'Getting a bit nervous about this…' Said Thomas as he dealt the next hand of cards round the circle, hoping that the opening at the front of his underwear was refraining from gaping as he leant forward to deal, although simultaneously being aware that it wouldn't really matter much if it did so.

'You and me both!' Exclaimed Tom, tugging at the fabric of his trousers. 'We have clearly been bested by these two Titans here…' He said, indicating Alfred (Still in his undershirt, trousers and underpants) and Jimmy (who still had on all of the aforementioned and his overshirt).

Thomas laughed as Jimmy and Alfred gave one another a comical nod of approval and picked up his cards.

Even if he hadn't already made a personal agreement with himself to fold all but the most promising hands, Thomas would have instantly ducked out of the hand at the sight of his cards anyway. He and the others were surprised to notice Tom remaining in.

'Feeling a bit brave?' Joked Alfred, looking dubiously sideways at Tom.

'Mmmmm, or I could just be trying to bluff you.' Teased Tom.

'How does _that_ work?' Said Jimmy with a raised eyebrow. 'It's not like you get anything if you bluff us into folding?'

'Well…' Said Tom. '…it does mean I get to win without you two seeing my hand…and that's the kind of thing that could really prey on a boy's mind…' He said with relish.

'Oh you sod!' Laughed Jimmy.

'So you're all in then?' Said Thomas, picking up the deck of cards again. 'Who wants to change cards and how many?'

'I'm fine. I just want to see what he's got!' Said Alfred, nodding towards the infuriatingly smug Tom.

'Me too.' Agreed Jimmy. 'Come on, let's see.' He said, setting his own cards down on the floor.

Tom smiled sweetly and laid down a straight flush.

'Well…Oh dear!' Said Alfred, meeting Jimmy's alarmed gaze with a look of good-humored defeat.

Alfred quirked his head to the side and gave a small bow of congratulations to Tom before pulling his undershirt up over his head; performing the movement with far less grace than Thomas had done previously, getting the undershirt somewhat tangled up in his long arms as he removed it.

As Tom chuckled at Alfred, Thomas turned his attention to Jimmy, who had only gotten as far as beginning to un-tuck his overshirt with his braces still up over his shoulders before halting.

'Jimmy you don't have to.' Thomas whispered quickly while the others were still occupied. 'No one will be upset with you.'

'No…I'm fine…I just…' Jimmy seemed to momentarily shrink into himself as he gave a long exhale before reaching up, slightly shakily to tug his braces down.

Thomas watched as Jimmy worked the first one off his shoulder, pulling at it with his thumb, keeping his hand tucked against his body as he slid the band over his shoulder, but quickly redirected his gaze upon the realisation he was staring; reasoning that being under quite such close observation would be unlikely to be conducive to Jimmy's struggle with vanquishing his personal demons.

Thomas listened quietly to the rustling of fabric to his side, eyes into the center of the circle (along with Alfred and Tom, who also seemed to recognise the need for silent patience).

The rustling seemed to go on for far longer than necessary.

With a slight frown, Thomas allowed himself a glance sideways, finding Jimmy kneeling up with his overshirt in his lap, pulling his undershirt off over his head.

Thomas's lips parted ever so slightly on their own at the lean and toned contours of Jimmy's torso, and he instantly hated himself for it.

With a quick and vigorous shake of his head to dispel his lechery, Thomas quickly cleared his throat to speak as Jimmy lowered his removed undershirt to his lap.

'You know you only have to take off one thing.' Said Thomas gently.

Jimmy grabbed for the overshirt in his lap, bringing up the fabric to press against his chest before turning to Thomas. 'I know.' He said, pushing his undershirt off his lap and towards the pile in the center before swinging his overshirt on again around his bare shoulders, clasping the two sides together at the front without bothering to re-do the buttons.

'Oh…That works.' Said Thomas in surprise.

'Mmm hmm.' Jimmy murmured briskly.

'So whose turn is it to deal?' Said Thomas.

'You know what…' Said Tom, leaning over to take the cards from Thomas. '…I reckon the time has come to switch it up at bit.'

'That sounds ominous.' Said Thomas, shooting a glance at Alfred to see if he had any idea what Tom was on about. The answering look was blank, although Alfred did take advantage of having Thomas's attention to indicate his empty whiskey glass.

With a chuckle Thomas retrieved the bottle from Jimmy's side and performed the task of topping up everyone's glasses.

'Well I reckon we could be here all night now that people are getting cautious.' Said Tom. 'So I propose a different game.'

'What kind of game?' Said Thomas, listening with equally rapt attention as Alfred and Jimmy.

'First we need to move this lot…' Said Tom, indicating the pile of clothes in the middle.

The others set to it, kicking and sweeping the pile to one side against the wall of the garage (unwilling to actually bother to get up from their sitting positions in order to do so). Thomas found himself cupping a hand over his crotch as the fabric of his long-johns stretched impossibly thin as he lent back to help with the task. He glanced around at the others wondering precisely why he seemed to be having the worse time of it so far.

'Good!' Said Tom as the central area of the circle was cleared. 'Now we need something we can all grab.'

'Well…if you insist.' Teased Thomas, clenching his fingers a couple of times over the bulge they were currently concealing.

Tom snorted, losing a little whiskey through his nose as he did so, and having to pause to wipe it on a sock (that the others all dearly hoped wasn't theirs) being unable to immediately locate a jacket, and consequently a handkerchief, in the disorganised mountain of clothes.

'I think we'd best pick something else.' Laughed Tom, briefly jumping up from the floor to rummage around on the shelves at the side of the garage. 'Let's say these…' He said, dropping a ring with three keys on it into the center of the circle before sitting down. 'Now…' He continued, sitting back down again, giving a brief rub to his cold shoulders with his forearms before proceeding to deal out the cards. 'We split the whole deck between us then take it in turns to lay down one card at a time, without looking at it beforehand. If the card value matches the one below, then you have to grab the keys. I think you can guess what happens to the ones who _fail_ to grab the keys…' Said Tom, trailing off with a wink.

'So basically…' Said Thomas, getting up onto all fours to allow himself a better chance of making it to the keys in the center. '…either you or me are fucked on the next round.'

'You could put it that way!' Tom said with a chuckle, assuming the same position as Thomas.

Alfred and Jimmy pulled themselves a little closer to the center of the circle, each sitting up on their heels, Jimmy still holding his shirt closed with one hand as he bent down to reach his stack of cards with the other.

'So here we go…' Said Tom, moving his first card into the center of the circle then quickly flipping it over. Jimmy copied him, staring intently and wide eyed down at the card as he revealed it, his body tensing in readiness to grab for the keys if needs be. Thomas flipped over his card, performing a feint-attack to grab the keys at the sight of two red cards appearing next to each other before realising that the numbers didn't match.

Alfred speedily followed with his own card, then Tom, then Jimmy…Then Thomas launched himself forwards to grab the keys.

As he sat back, the keys jingling in his grip, Thomas was a little surprised to note that none of the others had moved. He glanced down at the cards in the center again, wincing at the realisation that the previous two cards had been a King and a Jack rather than the pair his minds-eye had tricked him into seeing.

'Ah…' Said Thomas, sheepishly leaning forwards to replace the keys.

Either side of him Jimmy and Alfred sniggered at his expression, while Tom raised an eyebrow.

'I wonder what the penalty for mistakes ought to be…' Tom said teasingly.

'It's not like I've got much left to play with…' Said Thomas, still red in the face from his mistake, his thumbs playing round the waistband of his long-johns as he sat back onto his heels.

'Well we can't just let you get away with it, can we boyos?' Said Tom, glancing at Alfred and Jimmy who shook their heads in amused agreement.

'What then?' Said Thomas with a sigh, slapping his hands down over his thighs.

'Oh, just give us a flash and we'll call it even.' Said Tom with a grin.

Thomas rolled his eyes and got up onto his knees, shuffling to face away from the circle. With a bite to the inside of his cheek, he moved his hands to his back, hooking his thumbs back in the waistband of his long-johns to pull them down to just below the curve of his buttocks before immediately beginning to raise them back up again.

'Oi! Not so fast!' Laughed Tom from behind him.

With an exaggerated sigh, that he made sure showed in the rise and fall of his shoulders, Thomas pulled his underpants back down again.

He consented to wait something like five silent seconds before grunting. 'I'll not stay like this all day, you know!'

'Alright, come on back.' Said Tom with a light chuckle.

The game continued with Thomas paying _much_ closer attention.

His earlier mistake made him much more hesitant than he would have been otherwise to grab for the keys when a genuine pair turned up in the pile, but a mischievous desire for revenge had his hand moving more than fast enough to snatch the keys away from the others when he had finally convinced himself that he was indeed looking at two tens.

'Oh bollocks!' Exclaimed Tom, glancing down at his trousers, mentally kicking himself once again for not having worn underwear.

'Mmmmm.' Murmured Thomas in agreement, swinging the key chain leisurely around his forefinger as he grinned at Tom.

Either side of him, Jimmy and Alfred shifted to sit on their backsides as they worked their trousers open.

Thomas was too preoccupied with teasing Tom to fully recognise the suprising personal victory Jimmy seemed to be winning, although he did note the way in which Jimmy still kept a tight grip on the front of his overshirt, the tails of it being long enough to come down to his mid-thigh to cover any potential violations of modesty that may arise from being otherwise clad in nothing but long-johns. Alfred, of course, had no such protection and merely sat back on his heels in his underpants with his hands pressed between his thighs.

'Come on Mr Branson…' Said Thomas with a sickly sweet smile.

With a wry twist of his mouth, Tom turned around onto his side to limit the immediate affront to his dignity as he unbuttoned his trousers and peeled them down to reveal the full expanse of shockingly white flesh beneath.

'Well it looks like your sun tan from that day at the pond has all gone away!' Remarked Thomas.

'Shut up!' Laughed Tom, temporarily disregarding modesty to raise himself up and throw his trousers at him.

'Oh I've always admired your eloquence under pressure!' Mocked Thomas, tossing Tom's trousers away from the circle.

'Ugh…' Said Tom, crossing his legs and leaning forwards in an attempt to limit the exposure of his groin to public viewing. '…I wouldn't mind so much if it hadn't been for yesterday!' He joked with Thomas. 'You make a bloke feel very inadequate, you know!'

'_You_ challenged me!' Smiled Thomas, leaning forwards to drop the keys back into the center. 'Really you should have known better. Should have done your research down by the pond the other day!'

'The water was bloody cold then...it wasn't a fair test!' Exclaimed Tom, lowering a hand to protect his modesty while he leaned in for the next round of the game.

Never before was so much attention paid to a single deck of cards as the four men inched closer and closer to the center of the circle as head successive card was overturned.

There was a large amount of swearing following Alfred's successful retrieval of the keys, as the others wound up keeled over in their efforts to get at the keys first.

'Cor…thank God for that!' Said Alfred, staring at the keys in his hand in wonder as though unable to quite believe his mad grab for them had born fruit.

'Oh dear…' Said Thomas, eyebrows raised, as he stroked his fingers down the fabric of his long-johns.

'Oh dear, indeed!' Drawled Tom, having replaced both of his hands behind his crossed legs to shield himself from the circle.

'Hey...' Said Thomas eyeing Tom's nudity, still running his fingers over the fabric of his long-johns. '…what happens when you've got nothing left to take off?'

Tom sniggered. 'Nothing I'm even remotely drunk enough for…' He said with a grin. '…so I think we'll leave that for now!'

Thomas snorted and nodded in agreement.

'Right then…' He said, halting his fingers in their progress tracing the seam of his underpants. '…suppose I'd better get these off.' He briefly debated performing a similar move to Tom to conceal the majority of 'crucial areas' while pulling his long-johns down, but discarded the notion.

Thomas reasoned that the opportunity to be seen by others didn't roll around that often, and in his heart of hearts there dwelled a powerful and earnest desire to 'be seen'.

Still facing into the circle he got up to his knees (laughing a little internally at the disparity between the fantasy he had once nursed about performing this particular maneuver in front of Jimmy and the unexpected way it had translated itself into reality) and pushed the waistband of his long-johns down to his thighs, finding his skin strangely sensitive to the tug of the fabric as he did so, before rocking over onto his side to pull them the rest of the way down.

He raised a challenging eyebrow at Tom, catching sight of Alfred momentarily averting his gaze with a deep blush, and discarded his underpants over his shoulder.

'Shameless, Mr Barrow!' Said Tom tutting in mock indignation.

'Always.' Said Thomas with a smile, keeping his hands at his sides.

Tom rolled his eyes, his forearms visibly relaxing a little from their quest to conceal his nakedness as he returned Thomas's smile.

'Another round?' Said Thomas merrily, reaching to place the next card.

'Wait…I haven't…' Jimmy piped up.

Thomas tensed a little at the pain and tentativeness in Jimmy's voice, having hoped to deliberately skip over the issue of Jimmy's obligation to the game when he had noted Jimmy making no move to discard any clothing after the last round.

'Oh you don't have to…' Said Thomas quickly, assured that neither Alfred nor Tom would object but shooting them a quick warning glance just in case.

'No I…' Jimmy's eyes swept involuntarily down Thomas's naked torso before quickly returning to his face, blushing furiously. '…just give me a minute…' He said quietly.

Thomas nodded slowly, watching his expression carefully as Jimmy shifted to sit on his rear.

At the point where Jimmy's hands disappeared up under the fabric of his overshirt to tug at the waistband of his underpants Thomas once again averted his gaze, although he did catch a flash of naked thigh out of the corner of his eye as jimmy pulled them off.

With the overshirt clutched even tighter around himself, Jimmy slid his underpants away from himself along the floor, keeping his knees pressed firmly together.

Something about the crumple of the crisp white shirt over Jimmy's naked flesh against the cold concrete below had Thomas's crotch area stirring in a manner that would have been awkward enough to deal with even if he had still been wearing trousers. Hoping that the gesture would pass unnoticed in the face of his earlier bravado, Thomas attempted to discretely shield his crotch from the others as he leant forward to begin the next round; his pulse hammering a little harder at the thought of what might be to come.

Nevertheless, panic rather than anticipation was the dominant emotion in Thomas's mind when Alfred once again managed to wrest the keys from the center of the circle.

Tom gave a reflexive humph of annoyance at Alfred having been quicker than him, before briefly glancing sideways at Jimmy and falling quiet.

Alfred glanced quizzically at Thomas, silently question whether or not he was allowed to celebrate his victory. Thomas looked back with a highly uncertain expression before directing his gaze back tentatively to Jimmy, who hadn't moved since Alfred snatched up the keys.

Jimmy didn't say anything, but the debate going on inside his head was clear for all to see in the small movements of his lips and his vacant and faraway gaze.

Aware that there was probably very little they could safely say at that moment, the other three stayed silent and waited, ready to jump in and offer Jimmy an 'out' should any level of distress appear across his features.

As Jimmy released his tight grip on the front of his shirt, letting the sides part slightly at the top to reveal a deep V of the skin of his chest and stomach, and raised his hands to take ahold of each side of the collar the others all averted their eyes.

A few excruciatingly long seconds later, the discarded fabric of the shirt came into their peripheral vision on the floor in front of Jimmy's knees.

Thomas couldn't quite manage to suppress a quiet gasp at the sight of the discarded shirt; or rather, at what the sight of it _meant_.

As unsure as the others on how to proceed, Thomas turned his head towards Jimmy, keeping his eyes firmly above the neckline, to check that he was alright in light of this recent development.

Jimmy met Thomas's eyes with a look that was unnervingly blank but refreshingly guileless. Thomas could almost go as far as to read the first signs of a smile curling at the corners of his mouth.

Jimmy licked at his lips nervously as he continued to hold Thomas's gaze before glancing pointedly downwards.

Thomas blinked.

Jimmy repeated the gesture.

Thomas stared at him questioningly, a slight frown of concern creasing his forehead.

Jimmy gave the tiniest hint of a nod before deliberately lowering his eyes again.

Thomas's lips parted in astonishment.

Slowly, he began to lower his gaze, taking in the curve of Jimmy's shoulders, the smooth lines of his chest, the firmness of his waist, the shape of his thighs and what nested between them, before drawing his eyes back up tentatively to meet Jimmy's.

This time Jimmy really did smile.

Thomas couldn't help but smile back.

'Very well done there, Alfred!' Said Tom, leaning in to shake Alfred's hand with the hand that he _hadn't_ been using to cover his crotch earlier.

'It was touch and go there for a while!' Alfred admitted, jiggling the keys about in his hands for a moment before letting them fall to the floor.

'Well, cheers to your victory.' Said Tom, grabbing the remnants of his glass of whiskey from the floor.

'Cheers.' Alfred agreed, bringing his own glass forwards to clink enthusiastically against Tom's.

On the other side of the circle, Thomas picked up the whiskey bottle from the floor and took a quick sip as his own toast to Alfred's victory before offering it to Jimmy.

Jimmy's expression momentarily darkened into something powerfully hungry and needful as he took the bottle from Thomas, wrapping his lips around the thin sheen of saliva Thomas had left on the neck as he inclined his head to take a sip; intently holding Thomas's gaze.

Suddenly paranoid beyond measure that he was veering into dangerous (and potentially misinterpreted) territory at Jimmy's strange turn of mood, Thomas came to the rapid decision that their current venue was not the time or the place to explore that particular avenue.

He quickly broke off the eye contact with Jimmy to turn a smile on Tom.

'Well I think we can all agree that was a good game.' He said brightly.

'We're not done yet are we?' Said Tom with a wink.

'I'm just about ready for bed, me…' Said Alfred. '…I'll happily get these off now if it means I can get there sooner!' He laughed, indicating his underpants.

'Oh come on, there has to be a little something more we can do!' Said Tom. 'I know! What about a quick swim? Let's go and run down to the pond…'

'You'll have to count me out of that.' Said Jimmy quickly. 'I tried last time but…I can't really swim.'

'Oh…' Said Tom looking disappointed. 'Well, we could teach you!' He added, perking up a little.

'No bloody chance am I letting anyone throw themselves into the pond in the dark.' Interjected Thomas firmly. 'It was hard enough dealing with this in the daylight…' He said, running a finger along the barely closed wound running across the top of Jimmy's foot (before withdrawing his hand as though burned at the realisation he had elicited the contact without permission, not that Jimmy seemed to mind).

'Fine.' Grunted Tom, leaning heavily back on his hands looking dejected.

'If you're so keen to run around naked, I'm sure Alfred, Jimmy and I wouldn't mind spectating if you wanted to do a few laps of the upstairs corridors of the house…' Said Thomas, quirking his head at Tom.

Tom instantly brightened at the cheeky idea, but his face rapidly fell again. 'Why couldn't you three do it as well?' He demanded.

'Because unlike you, Mr Branson, _we_ would actually get fired if we were caught!' Said Thomas, beginning to retrieve the various items of discarded clothing from the floor behind him and redistributing them to their rightful owners.

Ten minutes later, having made only a half-arsed attempt to get dressed, Tom was once again stripping off his clothes in the semi-dark of the main staircase of the second floor while his livery-clad companions looked on.

'Alright…' Tom whispered. '…so I go along this corridor to the second staircase, then up to the third floor, along the main gallery, then back down the other staircase to the first floor, along the hall then back up here?'

'Sounds about right.' Thomas replied quietly.

'Good luck!' Whispered Alfred with a grin while Jimmy simply gave a low chuckle and shook his head at the absurdity of the whole exercise.

'Right…' Whispered Tom, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet to steel himself, looking anxiously along the darkened corridor beyond the landing. 'Here I go!' He announced before quickly scurrying away.

Thomas resisted the urge to send a teasing wolf-whistle after him.

As Tom's back disappeared round the corner, Thomas quickly turned back to the other two.

'Come on!' He whispered quickly. 'Take some of these…' He quickly bent down to scoop Tom's clothes off the floor, minus the shoes and socks, and offered them to Jimmy and Alfred. '…and split up and hide!'

'What!?' Said Jimmy, staring at Thomas in shock as Alfred darted past him to grab Tom's jacket and waistcoat.

'Here.' Said Thomas, thrusting Tom's trousers into Jimmy's hands before turning to run up the stairs behind Alfred.

'No!' Exclaimed Jimmy.

'It's just another game, Jimmy.' Said Thomas quietly.

'Well I'm not bloody playing!' Said Jimmy, draping the trousers over the bannisters.

'That's fine.' Thomas said quickly, his eyes briefly darting over Jimmy's head as Branson suddenly came into view. 'Shit!' He quickly turned and ran, he and Alfred splitting to go in opposite directions as they reached the landing.

'Oi!' Hissed Tom, taking the stairs faster in an effort to catch up.

Jimmy panicked and turned to follow Thomas, catching sight of him disappearing into an empty guest bedroom halfway down the corridor.

Tom paused to quickly drag his trousers on before stumbling up the staircase after them, he chose to swing left after Alfred. It took moments to catch up to him, Alfred's long legs seemingly too un-coordinated to give him the expected natural advantage.

However, through sheer luck, Alfred managed to about-face and weave past him to run in the opposite direction so abruptly that Tom skidded over and was momentarily prevented from pursuing him. It didn't take him long to pick himself up off the floor however, and he was soon after Alfred again, grinning as he ran after him.

Jimmy quickly darted into the guest bedroom after Thomas, just in time to see him climbing inside the closet.

'What are you doing!?' Whispered Jimmy.

'I thought you weren't playing!' Thomas whispered back, moving to close the closet door behind him.

Jimmy crossed the room and caught the door before Thomas could fully close it.

'Let me get in too!'

'Sod off and find your own hiding place!' Thomas hissed urgently at him, hearing the sounds of footsteps growing louder in the corridor outside.

Jimmy heard the sounds too and they propelled him onwards and into the closet, pulling the door shut behind him as his front crushed against Thomas's.

'Goddamnit Jimmy, get out of the damn closet!' Thomas whispered, shifting uncomfortably in the confined space to try to keep the press of their bodies to a bare minimum.

'No!' Jimmy whispered back, leaning a little closer, unable to resist the opportunity to properly savor the scent he had briefly sampled earlier that night.

'Jimmy are you _sniffing_ me?' Said Thomas in a highly disturbed voice.

'No!' Jimmy retorted insistently, raising his face up to Thomas's, realising with a start that they were far closer than he thought.

The sides of their noses gently brushed together.

Thomas tensed, waiting for Jimmy to pull back.

But he didn't.

So Thomas did.

Giving a sharp shove to move Jimmy as far back as the limited space would allow, Thomas swung the closet door open and half-stepped half-fell back onto the floor of the bedroom.

'Thomas, wait!' Said Jimmy urgently as Thomas wrenched open the bedroom door and walked back out into the corridor, the way they had originally come. 'Thomas, please!'

'There'll be no more of _that_!' Hissed Thomas, turning around to gesticulate vigorously towards the room they had just left before continuing to walk away.

'But…' Jimmy whispered, trotting after Thomas as they reached the bend in the corridor. '…what if I want…more.'

'You don't _know _what you want!' Retorted Thomas angrily, as loudly as he dared in the quiet corridor, turning to face Jimmy but continuing to back away. 'That continues to be the damn problem!'

'I do know!' Jimmy advanced on him, taking a strong grip of Thomas's hand to direct it towards the evidence of intense 'want' protruding below his waistband and hooking his other hand around Thomas's neck to draw him down; latching their lips firmly together.

'What the fu…?' Alfred's horrified whisper rang out from besides them as he came to a skidding halt upon rounding the corner.

But the remainder of the word was quickly cut off by the grunt he emitted upon the partially clad Tom slamming hard against his back, having _not_ come to a skidding halt upon rounding the corner, sending the two of them careening into Thomas and Jimmy.

The four men landed on the floor with such a thump that the ornaments on the nearby credenza rattled furiously. One silver plate in particular jumped off it's stand entirely and rolled down onto the floor, somehow finding one of the few-uncarpeted spots on the floorboards in it's quest to seemingly make as much teeth-clenchingly loud noise as possible before coming to a rest.

Entangled together, Tom largely on top of Thomas, while Alfred flattened Jimmy, they watched the plate come to a shuddering halt without bothering to try to halt it; a sense of inevitable pending doom having fallen over them the moment they had connected bodily (and loudly) with the floor.

'What in God's name…?!' Exclaimed Robert's indignant (and very drowsy) voice as he emerged from the next-but-one room down the corridor brandishing a candle.

He stopped and stared, utterly dumbfounded, at the sight before him.

'What…?' He trailed off, eyes impossibly wide as each new detail, from the identities of those involved to Tom's state of undress, imprinted itself upon his mind.

'Um…I was sleepwalking.' Said Tom lamely, his voice a little muffled by Thomas's shoulder.

'Sleepwalking?' Said Robert.

'Yes…sleepwalking.' Thomas concurred, reaching to pinch Jimmy while Tom attempted to surreptitiously do the same to Alfred in order to draw a similar chorus of 'yes…sleepwalking' from them as well.

'I can't…' Robert continued to stare, shaking his head in bewilderment. 'Tom are you quite alright?'

'Perfectly fine, Lord Grantham.' Said Tom, managing to raise his head up enough to offer a smile despite the painful angle it required him to contort his back into.

'And…the rest of you?' Robert continued.

'Oh…we're fine.' Said Jimmy quickly.

'Absolutely fine.' Said Thomas.

'Never better.' Alfred added.

Robert nodded slowly, pivoting on his heel to retrace his steps.

He closed the bedroom door quietly behind himself.

The four men on the floor anxiously maintained their contorted positions for a moment longer before it became apparent that Robert did not intend to pursue the matter.

With relieved sighs that carried a distinct air of disbelief, they relaxed heavily into one another, noses buried in hair and fabric, before finally beginning the task of extracting themselves from the pile and giving Tom the rest of his clothes back.

For a moment they all stood silently in the corridor, in a circle reminiscent of their earlier arrangement in the garage, before abruptly collapsing into hushed giggles.

**Which brings us to: THE END**

**NOTES - Thank you to ivyjanelily for bringing up streaking in my suggestions box...I am so glad you did! :-)**


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